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We’ve all had them days watching home games
Where the next bloke but one takes a nap
And sheer frustration makes fans do things quite insane
Like raining celery hearts down on The Chaps.
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Low flying aeroplanes en route to Heathrow
Have caused us to crane be-scarfed necks
So much more engrossing than down here below
When we couldn’t for nuts find the net
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“Are yer travelling up to Old Trafford,
Got yer tickets for the Champions League?”
Stuff that us fans usually discuss post a match
Or down frog and toad as we leave. *
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I’ve tried to observe the MoTD studio
To see if Hansen and co are a kip
I’m sure Lawro’ll keep them awake with his God-awful jokes
While that bloke with odd ears nicks the crisps.
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I’ve seen those disgruntled, sat head in their hands
Hold back tears of woe, when we miss
Then in seconds ecstatic with a don’t know him from Adam
Embraced in a passionate kiss.
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A week of frustration needs an outlet, we’re told
So what better place to relax than The Match
But our frustration increases if we ain’t scoring goals
So our next embittered outlet ? The Chaps.
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If the action was better, or a goal hits the net
Then I’m sure those asleep would wake up
But some times no matter what chances you get
The green doesn’t want to be rubbed.
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An OG, deflection, or an in off the post
Will alter most sombre moods in a jiff
Who cares how? The three points are staying at home
And them fans what have travelled are miffed?