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Liverpool Street Station was full of ‘em’
On the concourse looking up to the board
Checking departures to Essex and Suffolk
Whilst The Suits on the station seemed bored.
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Smiling and passing the time till departure
Red scarves wrapped tight round their necks
Reliving the moment sublime put disaster
In it’s place, and they gained our respect.
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When the team ain’t performing, it’s painful
There’s the joshing at work and in caffs
Whilst yer workmates can seem quite disdainful
With the scorn that they pour on yer chaps.
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Watching four nothing hidings, when playing away
Is the worst place to be on this earth?
Whilst them what’s at home, have had plenty to say
On dire state of yer team and it’s worth.
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To them homeward bound Gooners, defeat had meant nothing
When their pride was restored once again
As I looked on reminded to win ain’t the only thing
Can be often how yer team plays the game!