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Probably need a Tiger Bay in there somewhere, not that I’ve ever heard anyone call it that….ever….
Cardiff Council buses in crimson lake and cream
Cardiff General Station in the age of steam
Single decker trolley buses to the Pierhead
Wandering around the engines in Canton Loco Shed
I've worked all morning on this
Cardiff City begins with C
Asters café that old people bang on about
Rhoose international airport
Down the docks blud
Ipswich were the last team to visit Ninian Park
Faerber, Winston Faerber
Fairwater is in Cardiff.
Leo’s at Leckwith, the old Cow and Snuffers
Over most seasons, how a City fan suffers
The Rose and Crown, Victoria park pool
Mostyn and St Illtydds Catholic schools
The Taurus by night and the Eurasion
A Saturday home game, a valleys invasion
St Davids hospital, where i was born
Soul crew’s new Burberry tattered & torn
Norwegian church, Penarth Rd Royal Mail
The Old Arcade, the Grangetown Whale
Those younger days with no cares or worry
But heart in the mouth with a dribbling Don Murray
The excited chatter on the walk back to town
After watching a goal scored by our Bobby Brown
The board’s attitude had us over a barrel
Just the odd gifted flash from Fingers Farrell
The line up had a familiar ring
Carver, Bell, Harris & King
Inevitably they went for the dosh
Hello Warboys and goodbye Tosh
There was the odd glimpse of hope and a spark
Remember that cross by Rees to Clark
The dreadful times were about to appear
It all came to pass, the things that we fear
The dungeon that beckoned
Was worse than we reckoned
To be continued
Your third line is virtually identical to one I was going to use, but I scrapped it because I couldn't think of a Cardiff-linked theme that rhymed with Pier Head. Thinking about it now I could have added 'Going for a steak down in the Homestead' Drat and double drat lol
A bit of Haiku:
The wind coming across the Bay,
Fans wending their way to the game:
Their cheeks, rosy.
The Moon Club, Temperance town, the Gareth Edwards statue.
The Blue Bell, Crockherbertown and the Military Tattoo.
Principality Stadium, where the welsh play
Clwb Ifor Bach and the CIA
Evolution, Liquid and Creation
Even used to have a bus station
The Rummer Tavern, Coopers field
The Bale contract never signed and sealed
Bellamy in Blue, the prodigal son
Losing to Blackpool that day in the sun
Llandaff fields, Roath park lake
Sam Hammam, was he on the take ?
Beating dirty Leeds, that day in the cup
Malky Mackay finally gets us up
Bothroyd and Chopra, lethal and keen
Nathan Blake and the fruit machine
Ross McCormack, Darren Purse
Duke of Clarence Pigeon's black Hearse
Never take the Grangend , louder and louder
NML and his love of white powder. Marshall McNaughton, both pretty stringent
We’ve always done well with our Scottish contingent
Cohen Griffiths my favourite player
Match of the day opener by Peter Sayer
Swimming in channel view jumping in boseys
Then round to the black bridge we called soapys
We went through the managers like no-one could say
Despite a brief respite under Eddie May
Hibbitt and Osman even Phil Neal
We’d have been better off with Billy the Seal
Frank and Gould, the late Billy Ayre
Did the Kumars and Joan really care
Then it happened, was it a scam
The saviour was a shyster named Sam
Lennie came with money to spend
The ice creams were flowing, would the fun ever end
Gabbidon, Kav and Peter Thorne
Christ, we didn’t know that we were born
We were rolling in money, we had some clout
It’s the City though, of course it was soon up the spout
Sam said ‘Not Me’
It was your spending spree
Now you owe Langstone and HMRC
I s’pose fair play to Ridsdale, he fought and he fought
Every week was a ‘wind up’ in court
F*ck knows what happened to turn it around
A Cup Final at Wembley and a new frigging ground
Since then it’s been better than those dungeon times
The Algarve Cup won in sunnier climes
The red came and went, forcing some fans to flee
One a stalwart on here, our own TLG
Something’s afoot, though, we don’t know the reason
But he’s bit his own bullet and got a ticket for this season
Two goes at the Prem, gave us some hope
But we know our place, lower down we can cope
And so to this season, we surely can’t fail
How bloody could we with a fit Gareth Bale
That went well and it really grates
That he and his daft hair are off to the States
We’ve got loads of goalies but no-one up front
But we’re safe in the knowledge we’ve still got Dai Hunt
Faggots and peas up the Market stairs,
Cockles at the door.
Bored conductors seeking fares,
A stuffed bear’s silent roar.
Egg and chips at Astey’s,
The chilly Empire Pool.
Greasy, lovely pasties,
Wagon Wheels at school.
Sunday dinner, roasted lamb,
Dad on the lam at the pub,
Toffee apples from my mam,
Custard slices, lovely grub.
A Bowyer’s porkie pie,
Dvorak’s Hovis bread.
Massive knot in too-short tie
Half-inch snow, grab the sled.
Black-faced coalman, white-faced milkman,
Window washer on a ladder.
Rag-and-bone-man, pungent dustman,
Making every boy’s heart gladder.