When Saturday comes and the sun burns high
From up in a pale blue Yorkshire sky.
We leave our house, we lock our door
Heading to that place where ‘oft before
We’ve cheered and laughed, we’ve sworn and cried
And played our part in the magic inside
That place of steel and concrete, of wood and stone
That they named Valley Parade but that we call home.
We meet with friends, in a pub in town
For a bite to eat and a Guinness to down.
For me, my faves, chips with a BLT
For you, perhaps, something healthy?
At the crowded bar with our drinks in hand
We check to see what team is planned.
The eleven looks good, the shape looks fine
We’ve power up front and a solid spine.
Gilliead and Marshall will maraud each wing
What will their tricksy footwork bring?
This pacey pair patrolling the flanks
Crossing to the strikers in our ranks.
New star Wyke wears our hallowed number nine
Once worn by Bobby in another time.
When Stuart, our boss, was just a youth
And played with passion, desire and truth.
With the sun cracking fair up in the sky
As slim, whispy clouds overhead skoot by.
It’s a perfect day to watch the boys
To feel the highs and to share the joys.
Among kindred souls in a tight packed crowd
With young and old all singing loud.
On such a day, where would you rather be?
So come on, join us. Be part of #TeamTwenty.