Plymouth Argyle

Green and White Dream

At Home Park the gulls wheel low,
Where sea‑spray mists the terraces,
And the Argyle faithful sing,
A chorus that rides the wind.

From the clatter of the turnstiles
To the thud of leather on grass,
Every pass is a promise—
A Pilgrim’s stride toward glory.

We’ve weathered stormy winters,
Seen the floodlights flicker like lighthouses,
Held our breath as the net rippled,
Celebrated when the ball found the corner.

In the stands, scarves flutter like sails,
Voices rise—“Come on, the Pilgrims!”—
A steady tide that never ebbs,
Binding city, coast, and club.

So here’s to Argyle, our green‑and‑white pride,
To the moments etched in salt‑kissed memory,
May the future kick as hard as the past,
And the Plymouth spirit ever shine.