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In Euro 88, as football fever gripped the nation,
In Hanover, the lads inspected their accommodation.
Mostly they were very pleased, as far as they could tell,
But Mick McCarthy had a little carp ‘bout the hotel.
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“Its very nahce,” said he to Jack. “Ahm sure it’s pretty prahcy,
Although me room is lahk a fridge, it’s really flippin’ ahcy.
I lahk a bit o’ warmth, so can ya get me extra beddin’?
‘Cos wakin’ up wi’ frostbaht’s really somethin’ Ah’ve bin dreadin’.”
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“Ahl goo ‘n’ fahnd the chambermaid,” said Jack with furrowed brow.
“Ahm sure that if Ah ask ‘er nace, shill sort ya out somehow.”
And off he went, back up the stairs, inordinately wishing
That he could find a bit of time to go and do some fishing.
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Mick went back up to his room at nearly eight o’clock.
He’d not been in a minute, when there came a strident knock.
In strode the pretty chambermaid, without the slightest qualms,
Assorted eiderdowns and bedspreads piled up in her arms.
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She laid the pile of bedclothes down upon McCarthy’s bed.
“Blankets oder eiderdown? Ve haff zem all,” she said.
Mick surveyed the options as he stood there by her side,
“Ah think ah’ll tek a long throw, love,” he cryptically replied.