Newcastle United

The Magpies’ Cry

At St James’ Park the night turns black and white,
Where Geordie hearts beat loud beneath the flood,
Each chant a hymn, each tackle fierce and tight,
A city’s pride that tastes of iron‑blood.

The Toon army sings in corridors of stone,
“Blaydon Races” echoing off the Tyne,
Their scarves a river, flowing, bold, unknown—
A tide that sweeps the opposition’s line.

When Ashley’s ghost has faded from the stand,
And new owners dream of silverware,
The faithful wait, with hope close at hand,
Believing glory lurks beyond despair.

So raise a toast, you black‑and‑white clad crew,
For Newcastle’s song will ever reign anew.