thfc poetry... (let's be having 'em)

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ZoC

ZoC

ok, cunts... show me wot u can do... i'll get the ball rolling...


O Tottenham! My Tottenham! Our wondrous Lane is done;
O citadel for all our goals, o shrine for prizes won;
The end is nigh, we'll say goodbye, o green, green grass of home.
An era's gone, we're moving on, a new field’s seeds are sown.

But O heart! heart! heart!
The blues, the whites, the pain!
It's here our hopes and dreams reside.
O Paxton, O Park Lane.

O Tottenham! My Tottenham! Be proud and hear the cheers;
Be proud—for you the flags were flown—for you the joy and tears;
For you we wore the hats and scarves—for you the Shelf was thronging;
For you we came, a sea of fans, for silver honours longing;

Here Tottenham! Dear Hotspur!
Your fans we know the score.
But it's some dream, that down The Lane,
The games you'll play no more.

My Tottenham please be faithful, pure shirts of lily-white;
My Hotspur, from this hallowed ground, we beg you don’t lose sight.
This heritage, these memories, the glory, glory seen.
It’s here you’ll stay, it’s here we pray, our home N17.

Exult, o fans, o cockerels crow!
Break out in famous song.
Our club will stand by White Hart Lane…
As the Spurs go marching on…
 
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O my love's like a lilywhite rose
That's newly sprung in May;
O my love's the finest team
That at the Lane doth play.

Glorious art thou, my bonnie Spurs
So deep my love for thee;
That I will love thee still, my Spurs
Till all north London's free.

Till Gooners are agone, my dear,
Till satan's helpers cease.
I will love thee still, my dear,
Till all our lands find peace.

So play thee well, my only Love,
I'll see you in awhile!
At the Lane again, my Love,
Without you I can't smile.
 
Isn't it awfully nice to have a Jenas?
Isn't it frightfully good to have Bassong?
It's swell to have a Bentley.
It's divine to own Gascoigne,
From the tiniest little Azza
To the world's biggest King.
So, three cheers for your Waddle or Scott Parker.
Hooray for Rafa van der Varrt,
Your BAE, your Sigurðsson,
Your Mido, or your Bent.
You can wrap it up with Ginola.
You can slip it in Malbranque.
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.
 
there was a young gooner from didcot
who admired wenger quite a-lot.
"up the arse!" the lad cried.
and was duly obliged,
and his bottom now dribbles like walcott.
 
We knew thee of old,
O, sublime Hotspur lad,
By thy lillywhite shirt,
Navy shorts you were clad,
From the grace of thy play,
Shall thy glory prevail,
As we cheer from the stands
Hail, Tottenham! Hail!
 
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