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In an half empty boozer, I stare at me pint
It’s Saturday lunchtime, it could be Monday night
I look at me watch, it ain’t moving an inch
Though I reckon it’s quarter to three
Then aIl of a sudden I’m starting to think
There’s somewhere that I’m supposed to be.
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No Saint and Greavsie, no On The Ball
No Football Focus? No, nothing at all
Where is this place that I should be?
I look up the road, it ain’t there
As three o clock comes what do i see?
Nothing. The streets are all empty and bare.
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Where’s the supporters who follow their clubs
Come hell or high water they used to queue up
Tickets prices have gone into orbit,
Telephone numbers they want
I don’t wanna buy a castle with a drawbridge
Just two match seats for a bloke and his daughter or son.
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A big plasma Sky screen is showing a match
Where a hero’s kicked over a goal
I lean cross the table, and enquire of the chaps
“That little blonde bloke, any one I would know?”.