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Derby Fever............

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That whatever will be, may damned well just be.....But they will forever be haunted by their honest truth's & known to those that matter as...





Hold your Heads up High & splendour in the glory of our pedigree.

Our house stands As a Fierce, Tall & Proud shrine of testiment to the Fallen, The Now & Through the time's of Tommorrow.


To the pure blood's of pedigree, The Son's of Greatness laid in earthly eternal stone from the hand's & pore's of the founding fathers, Forever based on moral, communitty, togetherness & Honourable competitive endeavour"s.


To the ever evolving Spirit & Traditon's that bestoe our hearts for eternity, intertwining Genrations gone, thru the generations of now & to follow.


To the Children of Now, Present Soul's embodied of the timeless institution's of grandeur, Continue to bleed, Stand Tall, Stand proud...The Soul, Body & Blood of Your House is Eternally Strong set in unbreakable Stone.


Whilst Path's for lesser man hath been Forever scriptured in Pebble & Sand's, embodied in the Devil's pigment of Red , the Glutenous Failing's of Greed & a Lost soul remiss of an identifiable palace to rest from the persistant Ghost's of the hangman's conscionce .


P.V. - The Peoples Poet







Regardles, And thank Fuc....My Arl fella's Dad's , Dad etc was Blueblood....Even for all the Crockery & whatever theyve won, done, could simply never ever have supported that lot...If it was Everton or no one...Ide be a Squash or Badminton fan or sumfin..!!!



Am working up an Anger for this derby....let's get em....Feel free to add your own personal derby Week / day thought's.......... :D:D:D

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Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,

Or close the wall up with our Goodison dead!

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man

As modest stillness and humility,

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,

Then imitate the action of the tiger:

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,

Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage;

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect:

Let it pry through the portage of the head

Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it

As fearfully as doth a gallèd rock

O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,

Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,

Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit

To his full height! On, on, you noble Blues,

Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof,

Fathers that like so many Alexanders

Have in these parts from morn till even fought

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.

Dishonor not your mothers; now attest

That those whom you called fathers did beget you!

Be copy now to men of grosser blood

And teach them how to war! And you, good yeomen,

Whose limbs were made in Bellefield, show us here

The mettle of your pasture. Let us swear

That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not,

For there is none of you so mean and base

That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,

Straining upon the start. The game's afoot!

Follow your spirit; and upon this charge

Cry 'God for Moysie! Everton and Saint Domingo!'

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Guest fozzie22

I wouldnt wipe me arse on a RS shirt if i had the runs...

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Fook me the Goodison bards


The only poem I know is


There once was a young man from Kent

Whose tool was so long that it bent

To save himself trouble

He put it in double

And instead of coming, he went!

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There was a young sailor from New Brighton

Who said to a girl "you're a tight one"

She replied "Upon my sole,

Your in the wrong hole.

Theres plenty of room in the right one

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