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A Bovril at half-time might ward off the cold
Or them pies with the brown coloured jus,
Roasted peanuts me bruvver sold inside Loftus Road
Which I’m told is quite near Shepherds Bush.
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Them hot-dogs (sic) ain’t really the answer
Truth is they’re usually lukewarm
Dodgy blokes selling `em` reminded me of chancers
In black market photo’s of long ago wars.
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Old Trafford had Macari’s outside it
Where awesome fish and chip suppers were bought
Or that night up at Grimsby where we feasted on fish
That still makes me drool at the thought.
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Or the time that I visited Florence
Where spit roasted boar was served near the ground
This makes a change from a napalmed black sausage
I thought as I watched it spin round.
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So spare the odd thought for the punter
Getting totally ripped off at the ground
I know the financial constraints these poor clubs are under
But a cuppa of rosy costing two pound?