Villains were proud. Kings of the city, and they will sing it loud
Remembrance day, the many poppies bloom
A Brummy hum, beneath November gloom
Beery breath steams, in sullen Autumn chill
The biannual trial of local heart, craft and will
The Blue and White, ever cursed to slumber
Villa’s ancient trophied mighty umbra
Each yearns for Honour’s banner for their tribe
Each dreads the curse of loss and killing jibe
No armistice this day, no quarter given
Amity set aside, friendships riven
One will strut the morrow’s victory stage
One will taste the bitter gall of taunted rage
The whistle blows, rival colours afield
Contest close, and neither team wants to yield
But Blue and White have cause to groan and fret
An ex-Villan scuffs, into his own net
Three thousand roar their joy and sweet relief
But the Blue and White still show their belief
Time enough, passion still, victory even, yet
Blue bullet-header, breaks the Villa net
A Blue and White throws himself to the ground
Villa fortune holds, football gods smile down
Wise referee Bennett is not so fooled
And the penalty-appeal is overruled
Under siege – to a single point they clung
Out on the left, the sweet right foot of Young
The deftest header from Agbonlahor
No joyous Villan, could have asked for more
Blue-noses out of joint, violence and hate
Mr Plod, for safety, had to lock the gate
But victory was sweet, Villains were proud
Kings of the city, and they will sing it loud
