Carrick Rangers

At the edge of Larne Lough where the sea mist rolls,
Carrick Rangers stride, their hearts in loyal rolls.
From the terraces of Taylors Avenue’s old stand,
Echoes chant the blues that sweep the land.

In green‑and‑white they chase the leather sphere,
Passes swift as gulls that wheel and disappear.
Tackles firm as Ulster stone, a gritty resolve,
Every goal a story that the town’s folk solve.

When the floodlights blaze on a chilly Friday night,
Fans in scarves and bobble hats ignite the light.
The roar rolls down the Carrickfergus shore,
A chorus proud, forever wanting more.

Through victory’s glow and defeat’s sober shade,
The Rangers’ spirit never fades, nor ever frays.
For in this coastal town, where history’s deep,
Carrick Rangers march—while promises they keep.