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Hurling our hurt at the waster up front
Who couldn’t score, if their keeper lay prone on the ground
Fans near by me, a trifle more blunt
Refer to a birth certificate not being sound.
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Glistening streets reflecting our ire
We trudge toward a small pub near the ground
With our luck of today the pub has caught fire
So our sorrows have no place to drown.
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Chances missed, and the freak goal they scored
Going joyously back to The North points in hand
Replayed so many times on pub’s telly we’re bored
Into thinking…giving drowning our sorrows a blank.
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Fans pore over programmes from cover to back
In search of inspirational hope
To stop excessive drinking, thus bringing on an attack
Of the blues, where the whole week-end winds up morose.
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Idols with trophys smile down from pictures
From a wall adorned with Gods in the past
A time when our club and it’s mystery
Inspired an interest in kids built to last.
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James Alexander Gordon reads out the full times
We hear our fierce local rivals are beat
The mood changes to singing, beer in to fine wine
Jubiliant fans race off home, down the street.
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Eternal optimism informs me and my mucker
Dire post match-days like this will soon pass
Right now, from lying face down in the gutter*
We’re sipping drinks…looking up at the stars!