You get note for being second, you get nowhere overnight, and we don't choose them, they choose us, it's a life of wearing white. From the twinklers to the gentle giant to don swinging sixties, from Bobby to Billy to bite your eggs onto the club as a hell of a story, he's backfidd at the strep for the end, it's Clark, one nil. Tears are plenty at Wembley or Paris, it's holding the pain with the glory. It's dancing on the beach in Bournemouth, it's Vadoo Karonne's knees, from champions of Europe to minus fifteen, from the playground to the peacock, it's defiance and devotion, it's dirty leads, the dumb genite it, it's savanton, seven nil smithereens. It's family, it's ritual, it's heartbreak, it's honour, it's rail Madrid at home, and then Stockport County away, it's Chesar, it's Sgt, it's Leachatman's sofa, it's Calvin Phillips, Kyle Schutt, Eddie, the last Waltz Grey. He's Don's dossiers, the El's as book it, Gary McCallister, Fabian Delph, it's Tony Iboa's crossbar cannons, Luke Channe or Becky O'Sci before self, and whether Beaston or Belgrade or Plymouth or Perth, you'll always hear the leads fans every corner of the earth. It's smiling at a stranger, it's singing with your mates, it's away days from dawn till the dead of night, it's made late and milner and batty and housing, homegrown lads with the names up in lights. When we lose, it's us against the world, when we win, we sort above the clouds. It's Gary's speed, it's Kevin and Chris, it's existing as one in a crowd. It's Alfie Harland, Albert Johansson, Lasha Lorimer, Oly DeCore, Simon Grayson, Nigel Martin, the famous Gilded Roar, it's David Weverelli 97, Gary Kelly, Johnny Giles, it's the agony of dislocating an elbow and then collecting your medal with a smile. It's Kiko in the center circle, Bamford defending corners, Alley Aski everywhere and Liam Cooper's grip, it's Anthem's in the self-stand, it's Phil Hayes Tweets, the Burley Banksy, the square ball, the Gray and Pink Kit. It's losing you voice when you're losing for a nail, it's Big Jack, it's Pablo the Chief, 90 minutes, 100 years, and at last, it's not Hope. It's Billy.