the place where I was born and bred its wolves i rep
was always short in length so the urge to crawl
had served a cause til I learned to walk and crept
Furthermore I’d prefer to talk in jest
The Molineux, a church of war,
dad would guard and hold my hand
a heart of gold and black like the shirt I wore
Saturdays was for the men, they drank and drank
the commanding statue of Stanley Matthews
a rendezvous, our fans began to turn towards the steps
the manager chalked eleven but its Stevie Bull the legend
a scoring weapon at who scored at ease and torn defences
he stayed with his team not chasing the league
his team were places beneath. His course was ending
and he ended his playing career pained by the league he wouldn’t step in.
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