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We Are Shamrock Rovers!

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The daddy took me with him
To give me ma release
I was five or six years old
And troublin the peace
We board the bus
The players fuss
Over red haired little bhoy
Then it’s down to tactics
Which bhoys will so deploy
The bus is ripe with singing
From native Emerald Isle
I just sit there grinning
At emotion in fine style
We reach our destination
Where battle will commence
There’s two big bhoys from Limerick
And a Corkman in defence
The opposition’s Swedish
So blonde, big and so fair
But we are Shamrock Rovers
Easily, we don’t scare
The match is grand and to a man
All is skill and flair
Till the one little incident
Shocked all the peope there
One well commited Irish bhoy
Who rucked like man possesed
Fell down on the grass holding his face
Looking quite distressed
Indeed the Swede who felled him
Took angelic stance
As a look of innocent “who me?”
Filled his countenance
As claret covered bhoys face
Yon Swede did stand and grin
When all of a sudden this old one
Punched him on the chin
“That there’s me son yer Swedish hun
Yer innocent me arse
I’ll bash yer blimmin brains in
And plant them in the grass
We play sweet game for only fame
On hallowed fields of clover
To injure’s not our business
Cos we are Shamrock Rovers!”
The manager and supporters
Did pull the mammy off
The Swedish boy was terrified
No longer did he scoff
We won the game
As fullbacks pain did at last cool down
The Swedish boy did exit quickly
That sacred hallowed ground!
We depart back to the changing rooms
To sing songs from Erins Isle
As the mammy nurtered her offspring
To raise himself a smile
Back on the bus to Pimlico
The singing and the craic
Were held as entertainment
For lightly bruised full back
We get back to the exiled home
And park outside the pub
We are Shamrock Rovers
Get out the beer and grub!

2

Notes

This would be about 1959 (AND IS BASED ON A TRUE STORY)

My uncle was captain of a crack amateur outfit called Shamrock Rovers
who seemed to win all the leagues and cups they played in.

It was all Irish immigrants who love the beautiful game, they ran out of opponents and had to become semi pro at an even higher level to get a game cos no-one would play them!

This would have been about 1959 or so and is a true story. I recall what great craic there was on the bus as all the bhoys sang songs and
geed themselves up for the match!

For an amateur side there was tremendous support but in those days all the families were very big and all to a man supported the team wherever they played if a brother or a son was playing, the whole family would turn up in their Sunday best after mass, to cheer the team on and win lose or draw, the craic was the same coming home!

Jaysus great days and a great team of bhoys to boot!

peace.

kev.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/we-are-shamrock-rovers/