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To say the atmosphere was fraught, watching Man U totally out-fought,
In the betting down Rye Lane yesterday
Would be…putting it politely, as t’was looking highly likely
The Blades would be more than worthy victors…come the close of play?
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A group of African boys screamed and bawled, at the plasma on the wall
As Man U easily parted company with the ball
I thought fisticuffs was on the cards, as one or two played the charade,
”They should let me pick the team, I’d drop them all?”.
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The braggadocio, finger pointing, and veiled threats got right annoying
As us interested nervous neutrals tried to watch the match
A chilled-out cheeky Jamaican called for calm, with more than a modicum of alarm,
Who seemed to hold a position of respect midst the gobby mass?
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Suddenly…a quick one-two, then three, despair morphed in to glee
Studious punters dropped their betting slips aghast
A lauded knight on T.V beamed, as all around me screamed
At a comeback, up there with those of Francis Albert in our past.
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Till…the door to victory slammed shut, caused fanatics do their nut,
“It’s going to VAR”, went up a hopeful shout,
“Hand-ball, they’ll disallow it”, “No they won’t, it hit his chest allow it”,
About twenty-five of us vociferously unified in…doubt.
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At three all the final whistle blows, the game comes to a close
and just before deflated sombre souls take to the street,
“You boys shouting an a screaming, means my customers are leaving
If it happens again, they’ll be no more football shown next week”.
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“But mam please”, pled a leaving man, “You don’t understand?”,
“Don’t be stupid, of course she understands, what planet are you from man?”,
She knows what its all about, she’s a Millwall fan”.