We Left It Late… Phil Mate.

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 With minutes to go
We were losing to Stoke
Anger was rife in the seats
Disgusted and son
Had upped sticks and gone
Making tracks with “He’s going next week”.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Sure the names that they called Peter Kenyon
Butch Wilkins, and Roman, Big Phil
I looked at the knives drawn amongst them
Realised they were poised for the kill.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Then Big Phil sent on Juliano
As a last throw of the dice? To be sure
Two kids from the stiffs were to follow
In an effort to open the door.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 When that first one went in
The noise and the din
Made the want away fickle turn back
With their Big Phil’s….The Man
Stoke’s by now feeble stance
Was slaughtered by all out attack.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 When Frankie smashed in that late second
We were David who knocked out Goliath
As the ref blew for time, mayhem beckoned
Spurred on by Big Phil’s defiance.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Now Frankie’s our messiah
Big Phil’s the man for us
We’ve pulled the irons from the fire
Put our daggers back in their scabbards
Left the ground and caught the bus!



A mass Exodus was on the cards, at Stamford Bridge in West London yesterday. If Stoke had scored a second one against us, turning from just plain nasty there was sheer and utter mayhem on the cards, I, for one could just feel it in the air.

How come? When you leave the ground, really buzzing after a finish like that, nearly everybody you meet knew we were gonna win the game, and the trouble with all them other home fans, unlike me and you Kev? Is that they’ve got no belief, and you’ve just gotta have belief!



Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/we-left-it-late-phil-mate/