Ode to Millwall

A hundred years of history,
Eleven wins from sixty-three?
Derby games, rare of late,
Very few since New Cross Gate.

Local neighbours we have been,
but those days we've long since seen.
The docks are shut and you've moved out,
It's in our Boroughs you now shout.

You've no time for us, you say,
But still sell out when'er we play.
We've both got our share of spotters,
Ours are trains and yours are Coppers.

South-east cousins we may be,
But not so different, you and me.
We work together, joke in boozers,
Far more often double losers.

So then, on to Saturday,
The New Den, what more to say?
A hundred years of history,
Eleven wins in sixty-three?

Time for us to start anew,
To go and get one over you.
Far too often we couldn't hack it
But now it's Powell and Kenny Jackett.

In '09 we took a mauling
Dailly's boys were 'kin appalling.
Expect to win? We can't pretend,
But we'll come and fill our End.

Morro's boys will have a go
We'll pray for a winning show.
A hundred years of folk-lore,
It's eleven wins from sixty-four!