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And so the Drogs are now top dogs,
The also-rans no longer.
They started strong and ploughed along
And finished even stronger.
With games to spare, ‘twas clear that there
Was no team that could match them.
Our hard-won crown has been passed down,
Now nobody can catch them.
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I reminisce, and greatly miss
Those battles for the title;
When leads were lost at dreadful cost
And every goal was vital;
When Pats or Bohs began to close
And nerves began to jangle;
When glory turned with chances spurned
And fans went through the mangle.
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When Derry pressed and kissed the crest;
When Turners Cross was heaving;
When tension mounted, first goal counted,
On cloud nine or grieving;
Fingernails well bitten;
And all the talk was us and Cork –
Who cared ‘bout teams from Britain?
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In this year’s race, Drogs set the pace
And won it at a canter.
Fair play! Well done! But where’s the fun,
The edgy, worried banter?
No see-saw rides to push the sides
Towards the edge of reason,
Drogs’ stroll dispels the view the Shels
Weren’t sorely missed this season.