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There are youngsters who show
They’ve a long way to go,
They want to believe they’re the stars of the show,
And they throw back their heads and they joyously crow
On the boat pulling out of Dun Laoghaire.
And they think they’re a catch
But they’re just not a patch
On the legendary Bomber Owen Heary.
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As if trapped in a cage,
The space is too tight on the Eircom League stage,
And they’re marshalled, usurped and they fly in a rage,
Until they are broken and weary.
For they’re easily shackled
And mightily tackled
By the man of iron Bomber, Owen Heary.
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The roar starts to crank
As he belts down the flank,
You might as well try to be stopping a tank.
It feels like your legs have been struck by a plank,
And your eyes become bloodshot and bleary.
Giants just wilt,
Afraid blood will be spilt,
When they’re faced by the Bomber Owen Heary.
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As an injury doubt,
The supporters all pout,
A groan can be heard when the teamsheet’s read out.
The right back is greeted with no raucous shout,
But with silence so gloomy and eerie.
No, he isn’t to blame
For his role in the game
But he isn’t the Bomber Owen Heary.
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Within the red creed,
Sure, his fame’s guaranteed.
He’s been like a rock in our hours of need,
A galloping horse couldn’t match him for speed –
At least, that’s the popular theory.
As strong as an ox
When he gets in the box
Is the far-fabled Bomber Owen Heary.
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Though quick to adapt,
His potential’s untapped,
McCarthy and Kerry should be violently slapped.
How in the wide world he has never been capped
Is a baffling and oft-remarked query,
For better by far
Than, say, Finnan or Carr
Is the marvellous Bomber Owen Heary.