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Enthusiastic, far from sheepish flocks
A colourful bleary-eyed sweaty sock’s
Supping cans of reviving Iron Bru, march on parade
An occasional, ”See You Jimmy?”, friendly shout
Aimed at a puzzled Southerner, dared to venture out
Never having witnessed a Tartan Army on crusade?
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Journeying via coach, car, plane and train
Revived our dampened spirits, despite rain,
Aimlessly sauntering happily about the city
Many sporting colourful kilts and tops
Posing in front of desolate tourist spots,
“S’cuse us pal, do a photee a me n Hamish will ye?”
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Our weather didn’t dare diminish their spirit
(Or, the fact very few of them had tickets?),
“Who cares?”, Says Tam just in from Bon Accord,
“To be there at the battle-ground is the all
Midst a pilgrimage of thousands a Scots the call
In the hope we put our auld enemy to the sword”.
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A Glaswegian, at the game, enthused stunned,
“That’s it, go on, get stuck in there Bully son
Did ya see, what the wee man did just then?”,
“Aye, an he’s barely twenty, yon wee chap
Who ain’t frightened a jot by yon Sassenach?
Gregor, gis us a glug, on yon hip-flask will ya hen?”.
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England, evidently taken by surprise,
Both on and off the field last night
Tugged their ineffectual skipper, yet again
Harry Kane, coming deep, out on the wing?
Gareth Southgate might ponder benching him
At least until he contributes to their game?
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Meanwhile a dour Stevie Clarke
Interviewed as the battle-ground turned dark
Didn’t seem surprised by his gallant Scottish boys
At least I’m assuming that’s what he said?
Even though I’m proper Mutt n Jeff
Unable to hear due to a jubilant Jocophony of noise.
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Well-worthy of more than a nil-nil draw
Played midst an incessant London down-pour
The Tartan Army drown-out the home fans in their joy
Smug indoors in the dry, I couldn’t help but smile
Us West Londoners having sussed for quite a while
T’was only a matter a time, our wee man ceased being…boy.