state of the pitch
¶ 1
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we’re so happy, we could screech
while the properties of grass, luridly leach
pure poetry, we perpetually preach
and footballing lesson’s, we continue to teach
keep aiming for Europe, we repectfully beseech
it’s certainly not beyond our ken, nor out of reach
we have gamblers not so anonymous, Gudjohnsen on bleach
down the Kings Road, we have a fortress, that no one can breach
we’re also in need of photosynthesis, to act like a leech
yes, we’re working on it, so spare us the speech
for Stamford Bridge, tho’ presently pared like a peach
acts like a canvas, as we samba on the beach!
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