From the island’s opposite ends
We’re just like long lost friends
We’ve both had our ups and our downs
Shared stories in copious rounds
The Lodge in March of eighty six,
Hennesseys goal, a teenage kick
Three years later, haunts like a ghost
Dave Barrys shot, came off the post
November two thousand and five
The greatest night ever alive
The Shed packed to the end of its tether
As we laughed and we cried all together
Some have our City infiltrated
Still these folks must be translated
Whatever the Sit-she-a-shun
Text message might be need to be done.
Our moment of glory converging
Can you see the pattern emerging?
We’ve won it first in eighty seven
Kieran Myers showed us heaven
Twelve years later in ninety nine
Hargies finish was so sublime
Another twelve have now since passed
The cup is ours, the die is cast.