The greening of Millwall

Oh Millwall, how thy name doth rouse
The passion in the purist’s heart
And raptures those that doth espouse
The beauty of this sporting art.
For though thy name brings forth to mind
Elysian fields of verdant hue,
And dappled brooks that twist and wind
Round hillocks moulded ‘pon the view,
Still I recall a distant time
When athletes played the noble game
For football’s sake, not fleeting fame,
Adored by thousands in their prime.

Upon the walls the names that we know,
Dunphy, Kennedy, Cascarino…

Ah, Dunphy, with his boyish grin
And reticence to get stuck in.
McCarthy, Eamonn’s nemesis
To whom he gave the Judas kiss.
Bold Tony, yet another scribe,
Adept with head and foot and pen,
And Kennedy, who felt the vibe,
Sometimes. Every now and then.
And giant Richard, tall and keen
To whom cruel fate was roundly rotten.
Oh they will never be forgotten
Who painted Cold Blow Lane so green.

Upon the walls the names that we know,
Dunphy, Kennedy, Cascarino…