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FA Cup Poem 2019 (actual)

And Still, Dannie Bulman plays

It’s Tranmere 2003, the situation reeks
Lawrie Sanchez cups his ears
He hasn’t won for 27 weeks
Our joy is in arrears
And still, Dannie Bulman plays

Four years on from the great escape
Two years since Essandoh
Andy Bell and Charlie Mapes
There was nowhere left to go
And still, Dannie Bulman plays

Prenton Park on a Tuesday night
The Wirral in the wind
Wycombe’s squad is frail and light
Wasting Darren Currie: a sin
And still, Dannie Bulman plays

It’s half-time now and Wycombe are embarrassed
So Sanchez makes his switch
On comes long throw’s Richard Harris
(Does his best work off the pitch)
And still, Dannie Bulman plays

But Harris can’t do it on this sacred turf
Owned by Davey Challinor
You can dry your hands on a proffered towel
For tears you’ll need something more
And still, Dannie Bulman plays

Danny Senda does it right
An own goal ends the circus
Sanchez flees the club that night
Farewell crazy gang berserkers
And still, Dannie Bulman plays

Now it seems an age ago
30 points up before the clocks go back
Modern Wycombe are an art show
Gareth Ainsworth won’t get the sack
And still, Dannie Bulman plays

One day in the future, when the sun expands
And burns the earth to pieces
There’ll be no more Wycombe, no trips to Sands
No dogs, no aunts, no nieces
But, somewhere, far away, Dannie Bulman plays


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