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Post by stokiemac on Mar 26, 2009 12:07:00 GMT
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; And fill the Brit up with our Stokie Cries. In staying up there's nothing so becomes a fan As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the bear; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest Stokies. Whose blood is fet from fathers of the golden era! Fathers that, like so many before us, Have in these parts from morn till even fought And sheathed their swords for lack of hope: Dishonour not the potters; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to sing. And you, good supporters, Whose limbs were made in Stoke, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not Delilah in your heart. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry 'Goal for Stoke, Tony, and Saint Coates!'
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Post by luke45 on Mar 26, 2009 12:18:52 GMT
Good Effort!
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Post by assessornum1 on Mar 26, 2009 12:39:18 GMT
do u want us to sing that, we cant even manage oh when the reds together
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