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‘Twas three and seventy years ago, “The baby’s here!” she cried,
And all who were around him stared – their eyes were open wide
A bonny little baby boy, who’s cries rang from the roof, down to the lobby
‘My son, my heir’ his Daddy sighed, I think we’ll call him Bobby.
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The years were hard and war was rife, and the little lad he grew,
Into a handsome teenager where football, was his hobby
Got taken on by the Great West Ham
And he became ‘Our Bobby!’
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Aged 25, and full of pride, he fought a long hard fight,
He ran the pitch and scored some goals, he tried with all his might.
The final battle came and all of England danced with glee
When he lifted up that gold World Cup and we all chanted ‘Bobby!’
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The years went by, and Bobby died, the one battle he couldn’t win
Was the one that stole our boy away, one deadlier than sin
We knew he was our hero, we knew he was our lad
But this was the hardest battle that our Bobby had ever had.
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Bobby Moore, I know for sure, was a West Ham boy forever,
His heart and soul live on right there – and will this change? No! Never!
And no matter where we are out East, the Boleyn or OS
We’ll know that Bob will be right there
Urging us to do our best.
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He made the West Ham family, For what it is today.
Thousands of his loyal fans who just won’t go away
So raise a glass to Bobby, don’t be sad,don’t be forlorn
Cos three and seventy years ago
A true legend was born.