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In the heart of Yorkshire,
there's a club called Leeds,
they play like masters,
and fulfill all my needs.
They play with some skill,
they play with some passion,
apart from David Batty,
they're all into fashion.
I went to see them,
2 weeks ago,
Little did I know,
they wouldn't win a feckin throw.
I sang and i sang,
till I was blue in da face,
oh my God,
they were a feckin disgrace.
But things are picking up,
Eddie Gray has em' playing well,
they're not last anymore,
like they were with Ell Tel.
We haven't a bob in da bank,
but who give's a shit,
we'll battle away,
and maybe they'll buy da boys a new kit.
Email me if u like my poem at danzoburger@hotmail.com
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