To dream the impossible dream
To beat the impossible foe
To bear with unbearable Stevo
To tell the big birk where to go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To tell Ganson to stick it!
To reach the unreachable play off

This is my quest
To follow that play off
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far

To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march onto Old Trafford
For a heavenly cause

And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest

And the world will take Macnamarra
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star

We are Bradford!
We are Bradford!
We are Bradford!!

Hah, you have to get this going at the ground tonight mate.

We simply are not worthy of your great talent MBBB.

I'd hardly describe us as an "impossible foe"

I left that line in because I wanted to mention Stevo who was writing us off even a couple of weeks ago and who I find is generally negative towards our club and it rhymed.

ABSOLUTELY!!!

How am I gonna remember all those words!

that would be very funny if everyone started humming the tune

And now, the end is near;
And so we face the final league match.
My friend, Ill say it clear,
Ill state my case, of which Im certain.

We've lived a season thats full.
We've beaten Saints at Knowsley Road
And more, much more than this,
We beat the Rhinos.

Regrets, we had a few;
But then again, lets not mention Celtic.
We did what we had to do
And saw it while other results went our way.

Macca planned each charted course;
Each careful kick from Deacon's boo its,
But more, much more than this,
We did it Macca's way.

Yes, there were times, Im sure you knew
When we were so cheesed off that we could spew.
But through it all, when there was doubt,
Macca ate it up and spit it out.
Macca faced it all and he stood tall;
And did it Bulls way.

We've loved, We've laughed and cried.
We've had our fill; our share of losing.
And now, as tears subside,
We find it all so amusing.

To think we did all that;
And may I say - not in a skillful way,
No, oh no not the Bulls,
they did it Macca's way.

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels;
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows Macca took the blows -
but it comes down to Hull Toooo niiiiiiiight!


We are Bradford!
We are Bradford!
We are Bradford!

Oh dear.