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One day in the dark streets of Belfast

"One day in the dark streets of Belfast,
A young man was born too soon,
For had he been born today, boys,
This game would know no gloom,
For he stood only Five Feet eight inches,
He weighed only eight stone,
By day he played with his friends there,
By night he played on his own.

Then early one morning a letter,
Arrived in the post at his home:
"Will your son please board the ferry,
From Ireland to England alone",
So a young lad arrived at Old Trafford,
Prepared to give his all,
But England's a long way from Belfast,
And the Emerald Isle did call.

It took all of Matt Busby's persuasion,
To make him come back for the test,
For he knew that he'd found a genius,
Who was so Far ahead of the rest,
He could run at the speed of a greyhound,
Turn on a sixpence and shoot,
Dribble his way through a minefield,
While still only wearing one boot.

His playing brought crowds in their thousands,
His antics attack from the press,
But they still had to bow down in tribute,
And acknowledge true genius...George Best!"




Any more poems about United or little anecdotes etc etc......share them here with us all please.....x
 
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The Flowers of Manchester

One cold and bitter Thursday in Munich, Germany,
Eight great football stalwarts conceded victory,
Eight men who will never play again who met destruction there,
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester

Matt Busby's boys were flying, returning from Belgrade,
This great United family, all masters of their trade,
The Pilot of the aircraft, the skipper Captain Thain,
Three times they tried to take off and twice turned back again.

The third time down the runaway disaster followed close,
There was a slush upon that runaway and the aircraft never rose,
It ploughed into the marshy ground, it broke, it overturned.
And eight of the team were killed as the blazing wreckage burned.

Roger Byrne and Tommy Taylor who were capped for England's side.
And Ireland's Billy Whelan and England's Geoff Bent died,
Mark Jones and Eddie Colman, and David Pegg also,
They all lost their lives as it ploughed on through the snow.

Big Duncan he went to, with an injury to his frame,
And Ireland's brave Jack Blanchflower will never play again,
The great Sir Matt Busby lay there, the father of his team
Three long months passed by before he walked again.

The trainer, coach and secretary, and a member of the crew,
Also eight sporting journalists who with United flew,
and one of them Big Swifty, who we'll ne'er forget,
the finest English 'keeper that ever graced the net.

Oh, England's finest football team its record truly great,
its proud successes mocked by a cruel turn of fate.
Eight men will never play again, who met destruction there,
the flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester
 

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Discussion Starter #3
SALFORD RED said:
The Flowers of Manchester

One cold and bitter Thursday in Munich, Germany,
Eight great football stalwarts conceded victory,
Eight men who will never play again who met destruction there,
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester

Matt Busby's boys were flying, returning from Belgrade,
This great United family, all masters of their trade,
The Pilot of the aircraft, the skipper Captain Thain,
Three times they tried to take off and twice turned back again.

The third time down the runaway disaster followed close,
There was a slush upon that runaway and the aircraft never rose,
It ploughed into the marshy ground, it broke, it overturned.
And eight of the team were killed as the blazing wreckage burned.

Roger Byrne and Tommy Taylor who were capped for England's side.
And Ireland's Billy Whelan and England's Geoff Bent died,
Mark Jones and Eddie Colman, and David Pegg also,
They all lost their lives as it ploughed on through the snow.

Big Duncan he went to, with an injury to his frame,
And Ireland's brave Jack Blanchflower will never play again,
The great Sir Matt Busby lay there, the father of his team
Three long months passed by before he walked again.

The trainer, coach and secretary, and a member of the crew,
Also eight sporting journalists who with United flew,
and one of them Big Swifty, who we'll ne'er forget,
the finest English 'keeper that ever graced the net.

Oh, England's finest football team its record truly great,
its proud successes mocked by a cruel turn of fate.
Eight men will never play again, who met destruction there,
the flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester
:( thats really lovely :(

More please - come on !!!
 
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Forever And Ever

Forever and Ever,
we'll follow the boys,
Of Manchester United,
the Busby Babes,
For we made a promise,
to defend our faith,
In Manchester United,
the Busby Babes,
We've all sworn allegiance,
to fight till we die,
To stand by United,
and the Red Flag we fly,
There'll be no surrender,
we'll fight to the last,
To defeat all before us,
as we did in the past,
For we're Stretford Enders,
With United we grew,
To the Famous Red Devils,
we're loyal and true,
To part-time supporters,
we'll never decend,
We'll never forsake you,
we'll be here to the end,
For we all remember,
that '58 day,
And the plane that once stood on,
The Munich runway,
As it tried to take off for the third fatal time,
The immortal young babes were,
Cut down in their prime,
In the cold snow of Munich,
They laid down their lives,
But they live on forever,
In our hearts and our minds,
Their names are now legend,
For the whole world to see,
Why this clubs a religion,
spelt M.U.F.C.,
So bow down before them,
and lift up your eyes,
For Old Traffords glory,
will always survive...
 
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