At Gol each Tuesday, under rain or shine,
A squad appears — all skill, all spine.
Unathletico, the name they wear,
With modest pace, but flair to spare.
They don’t forget their kit or time,
They warm up sharp, near their prime.
Their passes? Mixed. Their chat? Elite.
Their touch? Occasional. Their vibe? Complete.
From Lawrenny Avenue, tales are told,
Of Tuesday nights and hearts of gold.
No diving, drama, VAR —
Just five-a-side and post-match bar.
They don’t play slow, they play with guile,
And celebrate in budget style.
They may not chase the Premier dream,
But they’re the soul of the Tuesday scene.
Unathletico — built not bought,
With dodgy knees and clever thought.
The greatest team the fourth div’s seen,
In Cardiff’s halls of astro green.