Nottingham Forest

In the heart of Trent’s quiet flow,
Where ancient oaks stand proud and low,
Reds and whites entwine like vines,
A forest born of triumph’s signs.

From Brian’s fire to European glow,
The City Ground still hums below,
Each chant a leaf, each cheer a bough,
Rooted deep in Nottingham’s brow.

Through rain‑slick pitches and winter’s bite,
The Garibaldi’s gleam burns bright,
A timeless whisper, fierce and true—
We are the Forest, ever green, ever you.