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On that schlep to the North*
In a hire coach our club had laid on
What with birds singing songs
To silence blokes, though more coarse
Our venture Northward did soon sail along.
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As we spied other fans
Through coach winders
Making their way to The South
We gave them a Churchill sign via our hands*
Followed by a solitary finger
Whilst belting our songs out aloud.
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Sony walkmans and the radio
Blared out aloud
Soothing minds for the forthcoming fray
As we whistled then booed
When both teams were announced
and discovered our saviour wern’t playing.
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At a pub
In the middle of nowhere
Where the locals ate gravy and chips
We pulled up
Un-announced to be treated right fair
Legs crossed, in dire need of a hit and a miss.
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Those kind of days
Whether home or away
Were days us real fans have now lost
Though in closing this rhyme
A particular day stays in mind
As going North, a mere minute past kick off!