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In the pub I stood hopeful, as us fans often do
When the odds seem a long way against
As the class on wet grass from the Catalan school
On keeping the ball, slung its skillset at our defence.
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“Oi Guardiola that small boy’s in trouble
In this rain he’ll catch his death of a cold
If I was you I’d pull him off now, at the double
Or he might miss next Saturdays El Classico”
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But Pep wasn’t listening, and the rain tumbled down
As Barca spurned chance after chance
While us and the ball were like strangers in town
Hoping to make an acquaintance.
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In a spell of five minutes we might have a touch
Or that’s how it seemed at the time
As soon as we did they’d crank pressure up
Nick it back and make haste t’ward our lines.
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Then lo and behold Messi messed up
Lost control of the sphere he possessed
Ray Mears, found in a second by Lampard
Crossed it for The Drog, to first time it into their net.
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In the pub we went mental, Barca fans smiled
As does Messi when missing a chance
They both seem to know come what may with their style
They’ll be back soon to leave us entranced.
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Well that’s not how it turned out, I’m happy to say
As the boys once again did us proud
In truth Barcelona with the way that they play
Should on possession have knocked us spark out.
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Petr Cech saved a couple, the woodwork caressed
Fate was indeed on our side
Working hard doubling up, like mere mortals possessed
We reaped the rewards from our plight.
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I’m not really that in to I told you sos, while knowing
Pep Guardiola is clearly the man about town
But a wet Wednesday night in West London, wind blowing
Clearly ain’t a place for L Messi to be messing around!