West Bromwich Albion

At the Hawthorns, where the rivers meet,
The Baggies stride in navy‑blue and white,
Their hearts beat steady to the town’s own beat,
A chorus rises from the faithful’s sight.

From Fred’s early goals to Bryan’s fierce strike,
Through promotion’s joy and relegation’s sigh,
The Albion’s spirit never likes to balk—
It thrives on grit, on hope, on “come on, lads!” cry.

When the whistle blows and the crowd erupts,
Scarves unfurl like flags over smoky streets,
Each pass a promise, each tackle–a gust,
Writing verses only West Brom repeats.

So here’s to the club that wears the town’s pride,
Where every match is a stanza, loud and bold—
West Bromwich Albion, forever our guide,
In football’s timeless, ever‑green gold.