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It woz beautiful stuff, were you cheering the home team.
Intricate, fluid and slick
To us packed in the pub, who fancied we beat ‘em’
“Are they skillful? Nah too many tricks”
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“Ain’t no good protesting John” Petr Cech whispered
To our adamant ”I ain’t done a thing”
Would the ten men hold on, could we show our persistence?
We nervously swigged on our drinks.
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The restart, brings with it more of the same
Beautiful control and deft flicks
But our ten men were wise to the Arsenal type game
In that style Guardiola persists with.
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Fearing the worst, we watch then look away
As the referee calls time on our futile protest
Then a realist in the pub, matter of factly says:
“He’s still gotta put the ball in the net yet”
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When it came off the crossbar, our inner souls sang
We climbed up on the tables and screamed
Would it happen, could we even contemplate making plans
For a final in The Champions League?
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An offside disallowed, one back off the upright
Our makeshift left back turns it in
On comes Fernando for whom the word striker
Means he spends a lot of time doing sit ins.
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Then lo and behold, one’s lumped out of defence
To their neigh empty half of the pitch
Rounding their keeper Torres scores, they’re incensed
Whilst we’re up on the tables in fits.
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Meanwhile up in the press box, Gary Neville goes mental
Screaming his head off in ecstasy
Word is Gary ain’t a red, but a Shed-Head, who was right instrumental
In leading a rousing rendition of Celery!
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Our dream very much alive, we’re off on a pilgrimage
Toward the final, with our much maligned team
Who cares who we’ll play, Bayern Munich or Real Madrid
Feel free to write us off, ridicule and slate us. That’s your problem
But…… We’ll Still Believe!