Whilst looking through some of my dad's old papers, I came across a poem he had copied down onto a scrap of paper. Apologies to all Blues fans out there - but UP THE VILLA!
Midnight at St Andrews
It was midnight at St. Andrews
The terraces were bare,
No crowds, no cheers, no goals
but there seldom ever were.
But burgular Bill lurked in the shade
His jemmy in his hand
For he had an entrance made
Just behind the stand
And he had come in search of loot
of shields and trophy's rare
For he was told the silly coot
the F. A. Cup were there
He found a room marked "Trophys"
and into it crept
Poor burgular Bill looked around
and he stood there and wept.
No shields, no cups, no trophys rare
No F. A. Cup stood there
He fet like Mother Hubbard
for every shelf was bare.
Up came the copper, now come on Bill
you know we understand
you hadn't oughta done it
and he took Bill by the hand.
He marked him down Kingston Hill
and all the way to town
He took him to the bus stop
and said with a stern frown
No you just get on this here bus
we think its ust for thee
It goes along the Bristol Road
and straight to Rubery.
Now don't you give us no more fuss
and stop this little lark
you ought to know if its cups you want
you must go to "Villa Park"
My dad was an ardent Villa fan - I have no idea where this poem came from but thought it would be nice to share it.
Midnight at St Andrews
It was midnight at St. Andrews
The terraces were bare,
No crowds, no cheers, no goals
but there seldom ever were.
But burgular Bill lurked in the shade
His jemmy in his hand
For he had an entrance made
Just behind the stand
And he had come in search of loot
of shields and trophy's rare
For he was told the silly coot
the F. A. Cup were there
He found a room marked "Trophys"
and into it crept
Poor burgular Bill looked around
and he stood there and wept.
No shields, no cups, no trophys rare
No F. A. Cup stood there
He fet like Mother Hubbard
for every shelf was bare.
Up came the copper, now come on Bill
you know we understand
you hadn't oughta done it
and he took Bill by the hand.
He marked him down Kingston Hill
and all the way to town
He took him to the bus stop
and said with a stern frown
No you just get on this here bus
we think its ust for thee
It goes along the Bristol Road
and straight to Rubery.
Now don't you give us no more fuss
and stop this little lark
you ought to know if its cups you want
you must go to "Villa Park"
My dad was an ardent Villa fan - I have no idea where this poem came from but thought it would be nice to share it.
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