To all those who have shared the pain,
to all those sent insane,
to those, who drank it in,
to all those who believed what they saw
to all those who couldn't believe their eyes;
to those that toasted with champagne, flat beer, stale ale, Russian vodka, Sangria jugs, Portuguese wine glugs, prize gin with cocktail umbrellas, a nice cup of tea or a glass of grappa.
to those on the Hobec, the Delirium and the Alpha Super Dortmunders
to those who hugged, bumped, shuddered, cried and bruised their legs at Wembley 99,
to those who gaped at Oldham when Big Andy flexed his neck;
to those who saw the pie hit Peter Willis
to he or she who launched it
to those in the snow of Fellows Park and the rain of Hillsborough and the howling gale at Vicarage Road
to those getting sun burnt and to those catching a cold
to those who got washed out on the perimetre wall at Boundary Park when Smith missed his pen,
to those who swore at Lincoln they'd never come again;
to the bloke who ripped up his season ticket on the pitch v Bury,
to all those who have resorted to the creme de menthe and the sherry
to those that have run around dazed for days,
to those in a beer-sodden haze
to those that have laughed, cajoled, persisted and wished us on from afar;
to all those that supported us, put up with us, slapped our backs, kept us sane, avoided eye contact, didn't say what they were thinking, left things unsaid;
to all those that sang their hearts out, wrote, sympathised, phoned, emailed, messaged, reflected and thought of us;
to all those in the Oscar Wilde in Berlin when City played Blackburn and the Lord smiled on us;
to all those refs whose eyesight we questioned
to all the linesmen we abused
to all those parents of refs who we doubted existed
to all those in Sale and Brooklands, in Cheadle and Prestwich, Collyhurst and Stalybridge
to those in Northenden and Altrincham, Gorton and Ancoats
To glorious Stockport and rainy Denton
To all those Everton fans singing Blue Moon
to all those left behind in Amsterdam, in Alkmaar, in Dusseldorf, in Luzern, in Ballasalla, in Valencia, in Barcelona, in Lisbon, in Gonçal Bocas, in Alicante, in The Hague, in Porto, in Clermont Ferrand, in Haarlem, in Ponsacco, in Baltimore and Denver;
to all those sharing a moment at 3 o'clock every Saturday;
to all those who doubted, poked fun, poured scorn, cried foul;
to all those who believed, believed some more, hoped, lost sleep, threw up, fell out, jumped in;
to all those who waxed lyrical, shouted from the rooftops, bellowed, cried and stood firm;
to all those that went home and away;
to all those in The Comfy Cushion, The Parkside, The Whitestone, The Vine, The Navigation Inn, The White Hart, The Broadfield, Terry Neil’s, Mary D's, The Sale Hotel, The Blarney Stone, The Green Man, The Boardroom, Yate's, The Pumphouse; The Funzel, The Little B, The Proeflokaal, The Glue Pot, The George Hotel and The Abel Heywood, Tibb Street Tavern and The Millstone.
to all those that propped us up, put an arm around us, bought us a drink, put up with our moods, pretended to listen, spared us a thought; ruffled our hair; bought us a consolation pint of Terribly Bitter
to all those with oil money and no history,
to plastic seats and plastic fans
to those at Millmoor when King Colin scored
to those who saw Bert bend his neck
to those in the biggest Maine Road crowds, the men and boys, girls and mums who really existed, but never count
to those who were not really there, time and time again
To Gerry Gow and Ian Bishop
To Tommy Hutch and goals at both ends
to all those at Ewood Park, The Den, Saltergate, Bootham Crescent;
to all those who tackled, blocked, saved, scored, headed, came on, came off, jumped, challenged and played out of their skins;
to all those who sang long and hard deep into the night;
to all those who dared to dream;
to all those who still dream;
to all those with their lights on full beam
to Dickov and the Goat;
to all who cheered themselves hoarse at Wrexham and Stoke;
to all who ran the gauntlet at Huddersfield and Wolverhampton;
to all those on the pop at Meadow Lane
who felt the joy and felt the pain,
to all those on the roof of the Trent Navigation Inn
to all who cheered themselves hoarse at Wrexham and Stoke;
to all who ran the gauntlet at Huddersfield and Wolverhampton;
to all those on the pop at Meadow Lane
who felt the joy and felt the pain,
to all those on the roof of the Trent Navigation Inn
and to those downstairs rifling the bin
to all those who sang louder the worse it got;
to all those who renewed for Division Three
when City were buried beneath a tree
to the 32,134 that turned out for Blackpool;
to the fans who never were and never will be
to all those on the InterCity to 0-5 Newcastle;
to all those in the minibus to 0-2 Swansea
to all those hitch-hiking to Plymouth
to all those on the boat to Bilbao and in a van to Enschede
to those that never came back.
to all those in Gelsenkirchen and Copenhagen, Liege and Santander
to all those on the fishing smack to the Faroes
to all those in the double decker at Lokeren;
to all those enoying a Gaudino drive,
to all those dead and alive,
to all those who empathise, sympathise, chastise, romanticise;
to all those who tried to understand despite everything;
to all those who support United, Everton, Leeds, Chelsea but put up with us as mates on non-match days;
to Rodney Marsh and to Tony Towers
to Glauber Berti and confused Robinho
to all those who support MSV, Schalke, Sporting, Napoli, Benfica, Juve, AZ, Ajax, Belenenses, Valencia but now support City a little bit too;
to all those who have caught the bug
to all those that offered a hug;
to all those who send text messages when we lose
to all those who have it in your hearts to say "come on Blues"
to all those who renewed for Division Three
when City were buried beneath a tree
to the 32,134 that turned out for Blackpool;
to the fans who never were and never will be
to all those on the InterCity to 0-5 Newcastle;
to all those in the minibus to 0-2 Swansea
to all those hitch-hiking to Plymouth
to all those on the boat to Bilbao and in a van to Enschede
to those that never came back.
to all those in Gelsenkirchen and Copenhagen, Liege and Santander
to all those on the fishing smack to the Faroes
to all those in the double decker at Lokeren;
to all those enoying a Gaudino drive,
to all those dead and alive,
to all those who empathise, sympathise, chastise, romanticise;
to all those who tried to understand despite everything;
to all those who support United, Everton, Leeds, Chelsea but put up with us as mates on non-match days;
to Rodney Marsh and to Tony Towers
to Glauber Berti and confused Robinho
to all those who support MSV, Schalke, Sporting, Napoli, Benfica, Juve, AZ, Ajax, Belenenses, Valencia but now support City a little bit too;
to all those who have caught the bug
to all those that offered a hug;
to all those who send text messages when we lose
to all those who have it in your hearts to say "come on Blues"
just to make us happy
to John Aldridge and Phil Thompson
to Stan Collymore and Steve McManaman
to John Aldridge and Phil Thompson
to Stan Collymore and Steve McManaman
to all those with logic and compassion
and to those that prefer fabrication and fairy tales
to all those writing, thinking, posting, tweeting;
to all those who were there and will be there
to all those who have watched City at Wembley
to all those who knees didn't go all trembly
to all those who wish they could be there
to all those new to the throng
to all those who can never go again
to all those wizened, cracked, broken and chastened
to all those for whom hope is the killer
to all those writing, thinking, posting, tweeting;
to all those who were there and will be there
to all those who have watched City at Wembley
to all those who knees didn't go all trembly
to all those who wish they could be there
to all those new to the throng
to all those who can never go again
to all those wizened, cracked, broken and chastened
to all those for whom hope is the killer
to those that midweek is a filler
to Paolo Wanchope and Kevin Horlock
to Micky Horswill and Geoff Hammond
to the unsung heroes and the bottle washers
to the foot soldiers and water carriers
to Paolo Wanchope and Kevin Horlock
to Micky Horswill and Geoff Hammond
to the unsung heroes and the bottle washers
to the foot soldiers and water carriers
to all those who find a treble bittersweet
to all those that find it quite a feat
to those that dare not look
To all the captains and to Tony Book
to the kitmen and the carpert cleaners;
to all those driving Lamborghinis
to all those prematurely thinning
to the change from losing to winning
to Nigel de Jong and Mario Balotelli
to guvnors and young guvnors
to all those who have played like we dream
to all those who have dreamed
to all those who have had a nightmare
to Jamie Pollock and Neil Heaney, to Jason van Blerk and Paul Beesley
to all those for whom a Blue Moon rising sends a little shivver down the spine;
to all those who climbed the fences at Villa Park;
to all those who saw next to nothing at London Road;
to all those who watched six go into the Norwich net;
to all those who clapped Big Mal across the turf
to all those who flew with Steve Mackenzie;
to all those who sank with Ricky Villa;
to Paul Power and the Goodison mud
to all those whose limbs went thud
to Bobby Mac in goals
to David James upfront
to Neil Young and Arthur Mann, to Malcolm Allison and John Benson;
to Roy Paul and Don Revie, to Genial Joe and Tommy Caton;
to Whiteys nap hand, to Quinny and Lakey;
to Roy the physio and Beanie the horse.
to all those who waved a banana and sang Blue Moon;
to all those who cheered in the rain in the Prater;
to all those who took a punch on the nose at Barnsley
to all those asked the time at Millwall
to all those who played on through the pain;
to all those who watched four goals go in on Tyneside;
to Stan Gibson and his pitchfork;
to Bert Trautmann and the never-say-die spirit;
to Buzzer, Franny and Colin the King;
to the indomitable spirit of Pablo Zabaleta
to those who have walked Claremont Road;
to those who have raised a glass at the City Gates;
to Kevin Reeves and Paul Sugrue;
to Bill Taylor and Peter Swales;
to Bernard Halford and Terry Cook;
To all those who dared not look
To straight-faced Ron Saunders
to all those who have risked food poisoning,
to all those that find it quite a feat
to those that dare not look
To all the captains and to Tony Book
to the kitmen and the carpert cleaners;
to all those driving Lamborghinis
to all those prematurely thinning
to the change from losing to winning
to Nigel de Jong and Mario Balotelli
to guvnors and young guvnors
to all those who have played like we dream
to all those who have dreamed
to all those who have had a nightmare
to Jamie Pollock and Neil Heaney, to Jason van Blerk and Paul Beesley
to all those for whom a Blue Moon rising sends a little shivver down the spine;
to all those who climbed the fences at Villa Park;
to all those who saw next to nothing at London Road;
to all those who watched six go into the Norwich net;
to all those who clapped Big Mal across the turf
to all those who flew with Steve Mackenzie;
to all those who sank with Ricky Villa;
to Paul Power and the Goodison mud
to all those whose limbs went thud
to Bobby Mac in goals
to David James upfront
to Neil Young and Arthur Mann, to Malcolm Allison and John Benson;
to Roy Paul and Don Revie, to Genial Joe and Tommy Caton;
to Whiteys nap hand, to Quinny and Lakey;
to Roy the physio and Beanie the horse.
to all those who waved a banana and sang Blue Moon;
to all those who cheered in the rain in the Prater;
to all those who took a punch on the nose at Barnsley
to all those asked the time at Millwall
to all those who played on through the pain;
to all those who watched four goals go in on Tyneside;
to Stan Gibson and his pitchfork;
to Bert Trautmann and the never-say-die spirit;
to Buzzer, Franny and Colin the King;
to the indomitable spirit of Pablo Zabaleta
to those who have walked Claremont Road;
to those who have raised a glass at the City Gates;
to Kevin Reeves and Paul Sugrue;
to Bill Taylor and Peter Swales;
to Bernard Halford and Terry Cook;
To all those who dared not look
To straight-faced Ron Saunders
to all those who have risked food poisoning,
to those who drank too much
to all those hemmed in at Bradford, on the hill at Blackburn, behind the wire at Wednesday, in the sheeting rain at Huddersfield
to all those who entered enemy territory;
to the guy who jumped on Keith Curle at Old Trafford;
to quiet Mel and out of his depth John, to squeaky Alan and confused Phil;
to Uwe Rosler and Steffan Karl;
to our Asa.
to all those who played bit parts;
to all those who scored off the far post;
to all those that thought we could coast
to those that put 5 in the United net;
to those that made it six
to those that thought the sun would never shine
to those whose memories are a gold mine
to all those hemmed in at Bradford, on the hill at Blackburn, behind the wire at Wednesday, in the sheeting rain at Huddersfield
to all those who entered enemy territory;
to the guy who jumped on Keith Curle at Old Trafford;
to quiet Mel and out of his depth John, to squeaky Alan and confused Phil;
to Uwe Rosler and Steffan Karl;
to our Asa.
to all those who played bit parts;
to all those who scored off the far post;
to all those that thought we could coast
to those that put 5 in the United net;
to those that made it six
to those that thought the sun would never shine
to those whose memories are a gold mine
to those that saw Dickov slide in the rain;
to those that stayed and those that left and those that turned back and came again
to Bondy, Jimmy Frizz and Big Billy Mac
to Georgi Kinkladze and Murtaz Shelia;
to all those who watched Kernaghan, McNaught and Davidson and still raised a cheer;
to the legendary 8,000;
to all those that sank 12 pints with Bobby Mac and Gerry Gow
to those that swayed on the Kippax, bawled in the Platt Lane, chanted in the North Stand and launched pies in the Main Stand;
to all on board the Coaches from Prestwich and Whitefield
to those that got on the pitch at Loftus Road
to Binman Bob
to Mark Lillis' shorts and Gordon Davies' dance steps
to all those who saw the glory of Wrexham and Real Madrid
to Captain Vinny, here's to you
to Freddie Pye and Trumann's For Steel
to all those who craned their necks, asked who it was, smiled, tutted and shook their heads;
to all those who saw Dennis fly at Wembley;
to those who had a surreptitious leak;
to those who wet themselves;
to those who hung on and have hung on until now;
to those who never gave up;
to those who came back;
to those who can't take anymore;
to those who went away;
to those who are there in spirit;
to all those who will not see what happens next;
to those who don’t know how long they’ve got
to all those who have seen enough already;
to those who will take what comes
to all those who packed the boozers at West Brom and Watford, Carlisle and Nottingham;
to those rubbing their hands and eyes at Gay Meadow and The Shay;
to all those for whom Górnik Zabrze means something;
to all those raising the forest roof in Apeldoorn
to Peter Barnes and to Dennis Tueart;
to Denis and his back-heel;
And to how that made you feel.
to Barney Daniels; to Stuart Lee
to all those who like a bit of history
to Gerald Sinstadt, David Coleman and Barry Davies at the mic
to Brian
Moore and Motty who took the hike;
to all those on the quays in Porto and shivering in Red Square
to those on Rioja in Plaza Mayor with heads bare
to Captain of Captains Michael Doyle;
to all those on the quays in Porto and shivering in Red Square
to those on Rioja in Plaza Mayor with heads bare
to Captain of Captains Michael Doyle;
who tried Lou Macari as a foil
to Dom Sullivan and Gordon Dalziel
to Barry Silkman and Dave Wiffill
to all those with too many blue garments;
to all those who refuse to wear red
to all those who refuse to remove their lucky underpants;
to those with their sleeves rolled up
to those with a clenched fist
to Dom Sullivan and Gordon Dalziel
to Barry Silkman and Dave Wiffill
to all those with too many blue garments;
to all those who refuse to wear red
to all those who refuse to remove their lucky underpants;
to those with their sleeves rolled up
to those with a clenched fist
to those beginning to list
to those with a welcoming hug
to all those in their match worn gear
to those with a welcoming hug
to all those in their match worn gear
to all those who walk in fear
to all those who don't really know how to cope,
to all those hearts without a hope
to all those who don't really know how to cope,
to all those hearts without a hope
to all those who don't understand why we do it;
to all those who have spent their last pound on a ticket;
to all those at the Full Members Cup and the Auto Windscreens;
to all those at Darlington and York;
to Edin Dzeko and galloping Kolarov
to Kevin de Bruyne, the Zico of Gent
and to young Jack Grealish heaven sent
to Pete the Badge and Elvis the seagull
to those who love not knowing what comes next;
to The Elephant of Bondoukou
to all those who fret and worry
to those who take it in their stride
to little El Mago and his pirouettes
and to Demichelis' tottering steps
to Pete the Badge and Elvis the seagull
to those who love not knowing what comes next;
to The Elephant of Bondoukou
to all those who fret and worry
to those who take it in their stride
to little El Mago and his pirouettes
and to Demichelis' tottering steps
to all those who keep coming rain or shine
to all those drinking red wine on the Bakerloo Line
to all those on the port in Coimbra
to Big Joe and to Helen and her bell
to all those Kings of the Kippax
to those with memories of Maine Road
to all those in 93rd minute limbo v QPR
to all those climbing the steps at the Camp Nou
to all those drinking red wine on the Bakerloo Line
to all those on the port in Coimbra
to Big Joe and to Helen and her bell
to all those Kings of the Kippax
to those with memories of Maine Road
to all those in 93rd minute limbo v QPR
to all those climbing the steps at the Camp Nou
to all who took in the mighty view
to those neutrals who will us on
to those who couldn't give a shit
to those who can take it and those who cannot.
to Bernardo Silva and Leroy Sane
to Gary Owen and Tommy Booth,
to all those memories that grate and soothe
to fedoras and ski hats
to shellsuits and flat caps
to those that prefer the simple bar scarf
to those that preferred to streak
to those having a very public leak
to those on the hard shoulder
to those left in the lay-by
to those climbing lamp posts in Sittard
to those on the frikadelle in Dortmund
to those neutrals who will us on
to those who couldn't give a shit
to those who can take it and those who cannot.
to Bernardo Silva and Leroy Sane
to Gary Owen and Tommy Booth,
to all those memories that grate and soothe
to fedoras and ski hats
to shellsuits and flat caps
to those that prefer the simple bar scarf
to those that preferred to streak
to those having a very public leak
to those on the hard shoulder
to those left in the lay-by
to those climbing lamp posts in Sittard
to those on the frikadelle in Dortmund
to those throwing up in Gelsenkirchen
to the slowest bus driver in Europe all
who brought us to the Altstadt after the shutters fall
to all those on the gin
to those living in sin
to those who smell of curry
to those who can only worry
to Ron Healy and Eric Nixon
to Kevin Ellegaard and John Burridge
to ginger Keith and Daniel Sturridge
to those living in sin
to those who smell of curry
to those who can only worry
to Ron Healy and Eric Nixon
to Kevin Ellegaard and John Burridge
to ginger Keith and Daniel Sturridge
to Ederson Morais and his smiley face
to all those boots we're not fit to lace
to Stephen Ireland's dear old gran
to Stephen Ireland's dear old gran
and to Elano's blast and long range slam
to big Richard Dunne and the year of the ton.
to big Richard Dunne and the year of the ton.
to those who Ricky Holden's pace did stun
to clocks that run to 93:20
to clocks that run to 93:20
and to those who thought just survival was
plenty.
to the Brightwells, the Morleys and the Futchers
to those that hang around training for a butchers
to Glyn Pardoe and Kenny Clements
to Riyad Mahrez and his twinkling feet
to Sergio and Carlitos Argentinean neat
to those who tweaked muscles, broke bones, cracked heads
to those that surged forward, to those that chased back.
to Fernandinho, to Ilkay and to all out attack.
to those that didn't make it all the way back
to those that felt rain and to those in the sun
to basking at Stoke and v Bournemouth only to lose out
to leaping at Ewood and shouting the good shout
to all those freezing on the Scottie Road
to those in the throbbing mass at Villa Park
to those in plenty of space at the Autowindscreens
to all Full Members and Simod Cuppers
to all who were there when we were on our uppers.
to Richard Jobson and Spencer Prior
to those that speak truth and not to the liar
To the class and style of Roberto Mancini
To the charm and guile of Manuel Pellegrini
To Frank Clark and his guitar
To those watching from afar
To Jamie Paradise with his 3 out of ten
To Bennett, Dave and Thatcher, Ben
To Foden Phil of Stockport town
To Pep the king
Who still makes us sing
To all those at Elland Road
To all those who bear the load.
To Gerry Creaney and the law of averages
To Colin Viljoen and Micky Channon
To all those who gave the Liverpool slant
To those that offered bullshit and kant
To those that gave us credit and those that pulled the plug
To those that can read Alyson Rudd
To Roger Palmer and Nicolas Anelka
To Derek Potter and John Bean
To the Lees Bradbury, Mills and Francis
To the Summerbee and the winter wasp
To all those that count the cost.
To all those that can’t afford
To those that like to live like a lord
To David Phillips and Derek Parlane
To all those that felt no shame
To Kevin Keegan's mighty men
to Berkovic and Little Ali a proper gem
To Neil McNab, to Willie Donachie
To Dave Watson and big Mick McCarthy
to the Brightwells, the Morleys and the Futchers
to those that hang around training for a butchers
to Glyn Pardoe and Kenny Clements
to Riyad Mahrez and his twinkling feet
to Sergio and Carlitos Argentinean neat
to those who tweaked muscles, broke bones, cracked heads
to those that surged forward, to those that chased back.
to Fernandinho, to Ilkay and to all out attack.
to those that didn't make it all the way back
to those that felt rain and to those in the sun
to basking at Stoke and v Bournemouth only to lose out
to leaping at Ewood and shouting the good shout
to all those freezing on the Scottie Road
to those in the throbbing mass at Villa Park
to those in plenty of space at the Autowindscreens
to all Full Members and Simod Cuppers
to all who were there when we were on our uppers.
to Richard Jobson and Spencer Prior
to those that speak truth and not to the liar
To the class and style of Roberto Mancini
To the charm and guile of Manuel Pellegrini
To Frank Clark and his guitar
To those watching from afar
To Jamie Paradise with his 3 out of ten
To Bennett, Dave and Thatcher, Ben
To Foden Phil of Stockport town
To Pep the king
Who still makes us sing
To all those at Elland Road
To all those who bear the load.
To Gerry Creaney and the law of averages
To Colin Viljoen and Micky Channon
To all those who gave the Liverpool slant
To those that offered bullshit and kant
To those that gave us credit and those that pulled the plug
To those that can read Alyson Rudd
To Roger Palmer and Nicolas Anelka
To Derek Potter and John Bean
To the Lees Bradbury, Mills and Francis
To the Summerbee and the winter wasp
To all those that count the cost.
To all those that can’t afford
To those that like to live like a lord
To David Phillips and Derek Parlane
To all those that felt no shame
To Kevin Keegan's mighty men
to Berkovic and Little Ali a proper gem
To Neil McNab, to Willie Donachie
To Dave Watson and big Mick McCarthy
to headers that fly
right into the sky
to the balls that soared and those that popped
to those that fibbed and photoshopped
To Bramall Lane and Valley Parade
To Paul Stewart and the flashing blade
to Joao Cancelo, Rony Lopes and the Benfica gang
to all those that bawled and sang
To those that sniffed and those that smirked
To those that doubted and those that hurt
To all those that put sweat on the shirt
To Steppi Stepanovic Come on You Blues
To the exhortations you choose to use
To chicken balti and warm Lamot
To Jesus Navas who had the lot
To those in the sun of Seville
To those in the rain of Vienna
To Fiona Richmond in the bath
To Groenendijk and having a laugh
To Peter Reid and Clive Allen
to Nicky Reid and Clever Trevor
To Trevor Morley and Raheem Sterling
To the Gareths Barry and Taylor
To National Express and British Rail
To Tom Garner through the wind and hail
To Jo
to the balls that soared and those that popped
to those that fibbed and photoshopped
To Bramall Lane and Valley Parade
To Paul Stewart and the flashing blade
to Joao Cancelo, Rony Lopes and the Benfica gang
to all those that bawled and sang
To those that sniffed and those that smirked
To those that doubted and those that hurt
To all those that put sweat on the shirt
To Steppi Stepanovic Come on You Blues
To the exhortations you choose to use
To chicken balti and warm Lamot
To Jesus Navas who had the lot
To those in the sun of Seville
To those in the rain of Vienna
To Fiona Richmond in the bath
To Groenendijk and having a laugh
To Peter Reid and Clive Allen
to Nicky Reid and Clever Trevor
To Trevor Morley and Raheem Sterling
To the Gareths Barry and Taylor
To Nelly Young and Alan Oakes
To Liam and Noel and other blokes
To Tom Garner through the wind and hail
To Jo
to blow
To Kakhaber Tskhadadze and all the other letters of the alphabet
To Kakhaber Tskhadadze and all the other letters of the alphabet
To Gordon Dalziel and to Arthur Mann
To Les McDowall and the Revie Plan
To Paula and Lucas and little Sam
to Greenalls and Grunhalle
To Les McDowall and the Revie Plan
To Paula and Lucas and little Sam
to Greenalls and Grunhalle
and the difference between
to the best bloody team we have ever seen
to Rico and Cole and those coming through
to those that ensure that the future is blue
to McAdams and Hayes, Fagan and Sear
and to a past that led to the present so clear
to Buckley and Kelechi and Sheron and Mee
talents that struggled and fell from the tree
to those on the bus, the tram, the train
or trudging back to town in the rain
to Barry Silkman and Terry Park
whose bite failed to exceed his bark
to that Terry Phelan
and the Dissa Pointon
to Martin Petrov's magic left foot
and to all who failed to make the final cut
to the Octopus and the carthorse
that carried the weight
to Stuart Pearce and the goals that came in a spate
to all those crossing the bridge
and those up in the air
to those on their own
and those way down there
to dark thoughts of failure
and to emerging to light
to long years of danger
to a long way from fright
to those on the ferries crossing high seas
and those on foot can do as they please
to legs bandy, crooked and long
to those on frees or going for a song
to Sun Jihai and the times that we had
to Alf Grey and Clattenburg and everything sad
to shaking your head and saying that's it
to coming next week and feeling a tit
to Maine Road puddles and Etihad beize
where frogs swam and GOATS graze
to the steps of the Kippax, our ancestral home
to wherever is next that we shall roam
to Ake and Akanji and all that is cheap
to Haaland and Mahrez for pockets more deep
to the staff that prepare and the reserves that wait
to those of us struggling not to be late
to Loftus Road kebabs and Coventry baps
to the girls that ate them and to the chaps
to Derek Parlane and Stevie Kinsey
to scoring made easy in off the shinsy
to all those that worshipped in old St Mark's church
and to those whose adulation from Gorton did lurch
to Hyde Road and beyond
to balls that cross lines and to those that don't
to goals that will be given and others that won't
to the long legs of John Stones
and to the skills that he hones
to Sporting Intelligence and quick thinking Samir
to drip doctors and drip feeders, feeling a bit queer
to Rodney and Bojinov and the parties we had
to the fireworks and the allergies that some of us had
to hearing the roar as you walk down the road
to wishing the beat of your heart could be slowed
to those driving the bus and those not on the drink
to those sipping their way over the brink
to Belmadi and Abdoun, Djamel on both counts
to Barton, Joey, who in the chip shop did flounce
to those that holler and those that cry
to those that snigger and look to the sky
to divine intervention and the lap of the Gods
to playing time out and hating the sods
to Ken Barnes and Earl Barrett
to Beckfords and Alex and all of their kin
who fought their place despite colour of skin
to the Bowyers and the Boyers
and to the original sin
to standing and staring
to slumped in disblief
to the scorers and the passers and the work of the thief
to burgers and bangers and things wrapped in bread
to all those who saw City about to be dead
to Wembley and Porto and places of esteem
to Vienna and Manchester, the cream of the cream
to all those still here
to all going strong
to all those who fear
the going to be long
to W Meredith who kicked up a storm
and big Tommy Johnson who never lost form
to Joe Mercer's aces, young and in prime
to managers and coaches out of their time
to Redmond and Moulden and Crompton and Scott
and the day versus Huddersfield when the goals did not stop
to those that waved bananas and didn't give a toss
to Daley and Robinson and big David Cross
to comb-over Swales, the merchant of gloom
to demos and mobs and harbingers of doom
to good days and rough days and days that end sad
to all those that came despite being called mad
to those with style and those with a riposte
to the lads wearing Fred Perry and those in Lacoste
to those ripping it up and those fast asleep
to the experts that gave us not one peep
To to all those who breathe and weep
and live and sleep
Manchester City FC
to all those who dared believe one day we would come out into the summer sun;
You've played your part, City have won.