Why unsettle a rock if it’s happy where it is by Stan Skinny

Sunk below the basement
facing the end,
Wolverhampton F.C
were left training on concrete car parks
with borrowed cones
and borrowed hearts
dribbling balls round rusty cars.

Their black and gold
had lost its shimmer.
Cash converted
to grey and mustard yellow.

The Molineux stadium
mouldy and crumbling.
Their sideburn glamour
a distant rumbling
of those floodlit friendlies
where they challenged the world
from Hungary to Tel Aviv
no one could defeat
the mighty Wolves stars
of Los Angeles.

But the Wolf was now lying
with broken teeth,
cattle fodder of the lower leagues.
No hope, no chance
The future looked bleak.

Until that fateful day in 86
when a Boing Boing bargain
broke into the trophy shop.

A bully from Tipton town.
who tiptoed Wolves
back up to the hallowed ground.

52 goals in one season
A true goal machine.
No first touch mind,
but the second would scream
and the crowd on the terraces 
would loudly sing
Stevie Bull’ he’s one of us’

With Andy Mutch by his side
The fans could dream.
The heady days
were here again.

Graham Turner
turned it around
and with Heywood’s millions
They rebuilt the ground.
The Wolves were a force
in football again.
From concrete chaos  
to a new silver lining. 
For "out of darkness cometh light"
and the glory days of Billy Wright
will come again
For the Yam Yam army.
Wolves: the bostin beauties
of the Black country.

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