Guest Blog: What’s your favourite chant? [part5 – FINALE]

Today’s entry brings to the end our series of chant blogs – we hope you’ve enjoyed reminiscing about funny songs past and present. We always want input from readers, so please do leave a comment with any thoughts or any genius chants we haven’t thought of.

There were some brilliant chants from Arsenal’s heyday in my early teens, some of the best including: “He’s blond, he’s quick, his name’s a porno flick, Emmanuel, Emmanuel” about the midfield supremo Manu Petit, and “We love you Freddie, because you’ve got red hair, we love you Freddie because you’re everywhere, we love you Freddie, you’re Arsenal through and through” (and later when he shaved his head updated to “We love you Freddie, because you’ve got no hair”). Other favourites include “We are staying up, we are staying up” early this season as a sarcastic riposte to all the early-season haters, and “Chelsea, Chelsea, money can’t buy you history”, sung repeatedly on the most squashed tube journey I’ve ever experienced on the way back from Fulham Broadway last month.

One more (an offer from Gerts as it happens, who says this is one of our best songs – I also think he enjoyed me singing it today as we ate lasagne in the work canteen): “Lasagne, woooooah, lasagne, woooooooah, we laughed ourselves to bits, when Tottenham got the sh*ts.” Genius.

In terms of the best by other fans, I took a trip to Loftus Road when QPR played Hull in May, at the end of the Championship season and enjoyed “Taarabt’s too good for you”. I also enjoyed “We were here when we were sh*t”, but as a tourist for the day, I couldn’t sing that with much credibility!

I also recall enjoying the tune to “Darren Bent is as fast as lightning, Darren Bent is a red and white, he gets the ball and he scores a goal, he’s f*ckin dynamite” at an away trip to Sunderland in November 2009. However given Bent then scored to send us on our way to a 1-0 defeat, I think I like it less now!

AFC Wimbledon: A man walks into a (local) pub…

…usually the start of some Davroesque gag. I’m afraid you’ll have to go back to repeats of Bobby Davro on the Box if you want some of his classics.

The title is more about that feeling you get when you walk into a small village pub. You know the feeling. You open the old creaking door. Upon entry, you are welcomed by hardcore stares, seemingly from the cast of Lord of the Rings, as the room falls silent.

Invariably you make your excuses and leave, quick smart.

Ye Olde nPower League 2 Inn seemed inviting from the outside but once we opened that door what would happen? Would we be laughed out of the place? Would the nutter leaning on the bar crack us over the head with a stool? Would the barmaid even understand us? Do they have amaretto and pineapple juice?