Dungannon Swifts

At Stangmore’s gentle, mist‑kissed ground,
Where the red and white of Swifts are found,
A town’s pride runs deep in every chant,
Dungannon’s heart beats fierce and grant.

From humble roots to league‑lit nights,
The Swifts take flight through crowded heights,
Their boots a thunder on the sod,
Chasing dreams that beat like god.

Fans in scarf and bobble hat,
Raise their voices, loud and flat—
“Come on, Swifts!” the chorus cries,
Under Ulster’s shifting skies.

Through tackles hard and moments sweet,
The team’s resolve cannot be beat;
Each pass a whisper, each goal a shout,
In Dungannon’s lore they rout.

So here’s to Swifts, both young and old,
Whose spirit shines, brave and bold—
May your colours fly, your hopes stay true,
And may the Swifts forever swoop anew.