Spurs new stadium, new White Hart Lane,
Brilliant, impregnable, we’ve never lost a game.

Hundred percent record there, that’s no mean feat
So praise the Lord, give thanks, for the team that is to beat.

The whole thing, beer an’all, only cost one measly billion
Whereas Lucas Moura, whom we love, he’s just a bloody Brazillian.

The show, the lights, the razzmatazz, a ceremony for the event
To host Crystal Palace whose home is a sarf Lundun tent.

But Spurs had come home, with a massive point to prove
After some terrible results of late, something had to move

We simply had to beat Palace, had to make them run
I mean, after all, they’re only SE25 scum

But we started with nerves, understandable in the moment
the expectations of the multitudes adding to our torment

Who would be the first to score a goal at Tottenham New?
As the game moved on that question grew and grew

And then with great relief to the 60,000 there amassed
the goal was ours, a reflection of glories past.

Except for the deflection, of course, but for that who gives a shit??
We had our first goal, Son the man, keeper could do nought about… it.

Then to sew things up, to bring more cheers, to raise the fucking roof
Ericsen scored a second. Less kick, more of a hoof

But who cares about anything, other than Spurs had then won?
Time to shout, time to drink, time to have some fun.

Because at da enna da day, is about booze and filling all them glasses
which we can do so amazingly quick, who cares about how many passes?

Very happy Thursday

A xxxx