Crawley Town

In the heart of West Sussex, where the M23 sighs,
Lies Crawley Town, a club that never says die.
Red shirts flash like fire across Broadfield’s grass,
While the fans chant loud, a steadfast, loyal mass.

From Gatwick’s hum to the Sussex downland’s green,
The Red Devils march, a quiet, fierce routine.
Each tackle, each pass, a story brightly told,
Of grit and glory, brave as days of old.

The terraces echo with time‑worn song,
A chorus of hope where hearts belong.
When the whistle blows and the floodlights blaze,
Crawley Town stands tall in the English haze.

So here’s to the Reds, to the town’s proud pride,
To every player who wears the badge with pride.
May your colours fly, your spirit never fray—
Crawley Town, forever bright, forever grey‑red.