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Wembly Mudpuddle
It is at Wembley,
Not the Theatre of dreams,
Yet the boys still dreams.
With confidence aura they all bream,
Glory, glory , they scream.
Mainooo, Garnachoo, Amad,
Old Trafford end roar!!!
They like it nice and neat,
We arent here to dance their own!
To ours we shall drag em.
To the mudpool we drag em.
To puddle and peddle em.
Foden, in the latches of the Spider,
He'll not escape.
Doku from the vice of Diogo,
He shall remain clipped.
Kevin, shall be Kobbie's toy.
Litcha, will chop Erling,
From Achilles up!
The Morrocan Gladiator,
Will be slashing anything in sight,
Wembley roaring, Amrabatttttt!!!
Bruno the Maestro,
Will be playing his muddy orchestra.
Garnacho, Amad, Hojlund,
Will racedown the oldguard,
Of Dias,Stones,Ake and whoever.
Rodrigo, a legless roadrunner!!
It needs not to be neat,
The hunt for a boars meat.
A mudpuddle it may be,
Be that as it may,
Let Be.
Glory Glory Man United.
By EbT Chikodza
© engleberttbruce
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