Below is a poem sent to me by @Ladygargar who is off to the game tomorrow. I think it's a beautiful summation of our expectations and must have taken her ages to compose. It certainly took me ages to type!! 
'twas the night before Wembley when all around Swansea town, the JBs were excited; not a moan or a frown.
The players were all tucked up by the coaches with care, in hopes to the Premier League soon they'd be there. The Jacks were all cwtched up snug in their beds, while visions of victory danced in their heads. And Steve in his jacket, still stained with bird poo, had just settled in with the squad, as you do.......
Then.......
Jacks converging on Wembley, they decamped down the bank as they sprang from the bus to go sort Thomas Frank. Away to the turnstiles we flew like a flash, tore out our (home printed) tickets then ran in, in a dash. The sun on the red seats of the half empty stands, gave the lustre of champions to players and fans. And what to our wondering eyes should appear but Steve Cooper, Mike Marsh and our Tatey so dear.
Then our captain, Matt Grimes, so lively and quick we knew in a moment the game they would nick. More rapid than eagles his wingers they came and he screamed and he shouted and he called them by name. On Naughton, on Ayew, Jay Fulton and Lowe, go Cabango, MOVE Hourihane, come on, you Swans, go go go! To the top of the field he screamed to them all, now wake up for God's sake and pass me that ball!!
As players before the wild hurricane blew, stood Thomas Frank and the Brentford squad too....... So to the four corners our players they scurried for a hatful of goals, calm and not worried. And then at the kick off we heard on the roof, the clattering sound of a Dragon's hot hoof. As we drew in our heads to see what was the sound, off the Dragon St Kevin came in with a bound.
He was dressed in a suit, round his neck was a scarf and he raised us all up and made us all laugh. A bundle of prayer books he had flung on his back and he sounded like home, like the most jolly Jack. His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry, his cheeks were like roses his nose like a cherry! His Swan's masked up mouth 'gainst all germs it was tuck; his tie flapped in the wind, he didn't give a f***!
The remains of a crown he held under his wing, he reminded us all from these Jacks came a King. His face was alight under his man-bag and belly that shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Jack and I laughed as did Steve with poo down his back. A wink of Kev's eye and a twist of his head soon gave us to know we had nothing to dread.
He boomed to the crowd as he went to his work, he got Cyril going then turned with a jerk. Then tapping his fingers aside of his nose and back to the still parked up Dragon he rose. He flew past the sponsors, to the Yanks gave a whistle, and away they all blew like the down of a thistle. But we heard him exclaim 'ere he flew out of sight, it's been OUR DAY to all, so let's have a good night.
If the Swans put as much effort into the game as GG has done with her verse then, Premier League, HERE WE COME! COYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
'twas the night before Wembley when all around Swansea town, the JBs were excited; not a moan or a frown.
The players were all tucked up by the coaches with care, in hopes to the Premier League soon they'd be there. The Jacks were all cwtched up snug in their beds, while visions of victory danced in their heads. And Steve in his jacket, still stained with bird poo, had just settled in with the squad, as you do.......
Then.......
Jacks converging on Wembley, they decamped down the bank as they sprang from the bus to go sort Thomas Frank. Away to the turnstiles we flew like a flash, tore out our (home printed) tickets then ran in, in a dash. The sun on the red seats of the half empty stands, gave the lustre of champions to players and fans. And what to our wondering eyes should appear but Steve Cooper, Mike Marsh and our Tatey so dear.
Then our captain, Matt Grimes, so lively and quick we knew in a moment the game they would nick. More rapid than eagles his wingers they came and he screamed and he shouted and he called them by name. On Naughton, on Ayew, Jay Fulton and Lowe, go Cabango, MOVE Hourihane, come on, you Swans, go go go! To the top of the field he screamed to them all, now wake up for God's sake and pass me that ball!!
As players before the wild hurricane blew, stood Thomas Frank and the Brentford squad too....... So to the four corners our players they scurried for a hatful of goals, calm and not worried. And then at the kick off we heard on the roof, the clattering sound of a Dragon's hot hoof. As we drew in our heads to see what was the sound, off the Dragon St Kevin came in with a bound.
He was dressed in a suit, round his neck was a scarf and he raised us all up and made us all laugh. A bundle of prayer books he had flung on his back and he sounded like home, like the most jolly Jack. His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry, his cheeks were like roses his nose like a cherry! His Swan's masked up mouth 'gainst all germs it was tuck; his tie flapped in the wind, he didn't give a f***!
The remains of a crown he held under his wing, he reminded us all from these Jacks came a King. His face was alight under his man-bag and belly that shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Jack and I laughed as did Steve with poo down his back. A wink of Kev's eye and a twist of his head soon gave us to know we had nothing to dread.
He boomed to the crowd as he went to his work, he got Cyril going then turned with a jerk. Then tapping his fingers aside of his nose and back to the still parked up Dragon he rose. He flew past the sponsors, to the Yanks gave a whistle, and away they all blew like the down of a thistle. But we heard him exclaim 'ere he flew out of sight, it's been OUR DAY to all, so let's have a good night.
If the Swans put as much effort into the game as GG has done with her verse then, Premier League, HERE WE COME! COYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
