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The Holy Jaggite's Prayer


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O Thou that in the heav’ns dost dwell,

Wha’ as it pleases best thysel’,

Visits us wi th’cuif Cauldwell,

For thy ain glory;

An’ Ally Roy and young Mansell,

An’ Miles Storey.

 

There’s nane o’ them can bulge the net,

Nor strike a pass, nor dribble yet;

Aye, sooth, oor ‘strikers’ mak’ us fret;

But Skip and Cardle;

Nae wunner we curse wi’ epithet,

On sic a fardel.

 

By Holy pow’r the dugouts moved,

Thy faith in us, nae doot, tae prove;

The Jaggites effort tae improve,

Thou’s sent us Saunders;

But a’ thy might canst not remove,

A’ Cauldwell’s blunders.

 

O Lord an' God, oor great white hunter,

To mitigate oor grave mishanter,

Please send us Goodwin, soon, or Bunter

For a’ oor glory;

Replace oor chairman, who’s a munter,

Forbye a Tory.

 

We bless the day thou gav’st us hopes,

Wi 'relegation we could cope;

But ne’er wi’ Caldwell’s media tropes;

An afwu’ vanities;

His white and shining envelopes,

Fu’ o’ inanities.

 

His shyte wad fill th’Encyclopedia

His ranting capers in the media,

Recorded noo in Wikipedia,

Mak’s Gyppos chortle;

An’ has them lauching in hysteria,

On Pie n Bovril.

 

But dafter yet than Caldo’s ploys,

Thae slaverin’ glib-tongued fan bois,

The righteous Jag their chat annoys,

An’ gies offence;

Their rantin’, canting shyte destroys

A’ common sense.

 

Lord pledge tae us a guid formation,

Fire up oor imagination,

An save us frae bleak relegation;

Frae grim League Ane;

And heed us in our dire oration,

Amen, Amen.

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3 hours ago, Semi Nurainen said:

O Thou that in the heav’ns dost dwell,

Wha’ as it pleases best thysel’,

Visits us wi th’cuif Cauldwell,

For thy ain glory;

An’ Ally Roy and young Mansell,

An’ Miles Storey.

 

There’s nane o’ them can bulge the net,

Nor strike a pass, nor dribble yet;

Aye, sooth, oor ‘strikers’ mak’ us fret;

But Skip and Cardle;

Nae wunner we curse wi’ epithet,

On sic a fardel.

 

By Holy pow’r the dugouts moved,

Thy faith in us, nae doot, tae prove;

The Jaggites effort tae improve,

Thou’s sent us Saunders;

But a’ thy might canst not remove,

A’ Cauldwell’s blunders.

 

O Lord an' God, oor great white hunter,

To mitigate oor grave mishanter,

Please send us Goodwin, soon, or Bunter

For a’ oor glory;

Replace oor chairman, who’s a munter,

Forbye a Tory.

 

We bless the day thou gav’st us hopes,

Wi 'relegation we could cope;

But ne’er wi’ Caldwell’s media tropes;

An afwu’ vanities;

His white and shining envelopes,

Fu’ o’ inanities.

 

His shyte wad fill th’Encyclopedia

His ranting capers in the media,

Recorded noo in Wikipedia,

Mak’s Gyppos chortle;

An’ has them lauching in hysteria,

On Pie n Bovril.

 

But dafter yet than Caldo’s ploys,

Thae slaverin’ glib-tongued fan bois,

The righteous Jag their chat annoys,

An’ gies offence;

Their rantin’, canting shyte destroys

A’ common sense.

 

Lord pledge tae us a guid formation,

Fire up oor imagination,

An save us frae bleak relegation;

Frae grim League Ane;

And heed us in our dire oration,

Amen, Amen.

The irony of your pious words is plain for all to see. Let's hope you don't get your ultimate wet dream. Back to back delegations may raise your semi to a glorious ephiphany. Make your weekend i would imagine.

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14 hours ago, dl1971 said:

The irony of your pious words is plain for all to see. Let's hope you don't get your ultimate wet dream. Back to back delegations may raise your semi to a glorious ephiphany. Make your weekend i would imagine.

I don’t think you meant delegations, fisherman.

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On ‎5‎/‎3‎/‎2019 at 6:38 PM, Dark Passenger said:

There's always been misogynistic undertones to the criticism aimed at Jacqui Low. This underlines it.

Ah, we're playing the political correctness card? Well, funny you've never raised a single objection to 'bitchfight' or  any one of a number of epithets using the female pudenda or mammalia on any number of posts on here. Funny peculiar, not funny ha ha, I mean. Highly selective correctness, only deployed when it puts your idol and the wassocks who put him there, under the spotlight. And that's the whole point of political correctness any time any where - to silence criticism.

As BJ says, what does FTOF on the t-shirts stand for again?

And how does that song end 'we hate the  boys in royal blue ...'?

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50 minutes ago, Semi Nurainen said:

Ah, we're playing the political correctness card? Well, funny you've never raised a single objection to 'bitchfight' or  any one of a number of epithets using the female pudenda or mammalia on any number of posts on here. Funny peculiar, not funny ha ha, I mean. Highly selective correctness, only deployed when it puts your idol and the wassocks who put him there, under the spotlight. And that's the whole point of political correctness any time any where - to silence criticism.

As BJ says, what does FTOF on the t-shirts stand for again?

And how does that song end 'we hate the  boys in royal blue ...'?

F*ck off, Semi.

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On 5/3/2019 at 4:17 PM, Semi Nurainen said:

O Thou that in the heav’ns dost dwell,

Wha’ as it pleases best thysel’,

Visits us wi th’cuif Cauldwell,

For thy ain glory;

An’ Ally Roy and young Mansell,

An’ Miles Storey.

 

There’s nane o’ them can bulge the net,

Nor strike a pass, nor dribble yet;

Aye, sooth, oor ‘strikers’ mak’ us fret;

But Skip and Cardle;

Nae wunner we curse wi’ epithet,

On sic a fardel.

 

By Holy pow’r the dugouts moved,

Thy faith in us, nae doot, tae prove;

The Jaggites effort tae improve,

Thou’s sent us Saunders;

But a’ thy might canst not remove,

A’ Cauldwell’s blunders.

 

O Lord an' God, oor great white hunter,

To mitigate oor grave mishanter,

Please send us Goodwin, soon, or Bunter

For a’ oor glory;

Replace oor chairman, who’s a munter,

Forbye a Tory.

 

We bless the day thou gav’st us hopes,

Wi 'relegation we could cope;

But ne’er wi’ Caldwell’s media tropes;

An afwu’ vanities;

His white and shining envelopes,

Fu’ o’ inanities.

 

His shyte wad fill th’Encyclopedia

His ranting capers in the media,

Recorded noo in Wikipedia,

Mak’s Gyppos chortle;

An’ has them lauching in hysteria,

On Pie n Bovril.

 

But dafter yet than Caldo’s ploys,

Thae slaverin’ glib-tongued fan bois,

The righteous Jag their chat annoys,

An’ gies offence;

Their rantin’, canting shyte destroys

A’ common sense.

 

Lord pledge tae us a guid formation,

Fire up oor imagination,

An save us frae bleak relegation;

Frae grim League Ane;

And heed us in our dire oration,

Amen, Amen.

What a sad act. Misogynist pish!

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