Birmingham City

Beneath the soot‑kissed sky of St Andrew’s stand,
Where claret streams like rust through winter’s rain,
The echoes chant a loyal, steadfast band—
A city’s heart that beats through joy and pain.

From Small Heath’s terraces to the roar of the Holte End,
Each pass a promise, each tackle a vow,
The blues unfurl their banners, brave and blunt,
While history whispers of triumphs now.

Yet seasons turn, and fortunes rise and fall,
But faith remains—unshaken, pure, and true—
For Birmingham City stands proud through it all,
A claret flame that burns in lovers’ view.

So raise your voice, let Scarlet thread entwine,
Sing loud, dear Blues—your city’s soul is thine.