I swear on this poem’s life

From the Rage Online newsdesk Saturday, January 1st, 2000  

For fucks sake this can’t be true
I don’t want to believe my eys
I watch this shit in yellow and blue
and witness players in disguise

Why can’t I get a job like that?
where I can fuck about all day
and whilst sober I can look like a twat
before going to collect my pay

The collective intelligence of the entire team
amounts to less than two
when success arrives it’s only in a dream
and the opposite is true

to say we’re shite is to give shite a bad name
and an insult to the flies
we can’t even say it’s only a game
when only one side ever tries

sadly kassam doesn’t make a sound
and Smith has lost the plot
what’s the point of a brand new ground
when the inside’s are left to rot

a team of cowards would show more pride
than this current squad all lack
it’s only a small pitch and you cannot hide
so get your cards and fuck right off, you’ve all been given the sack.

smokejack

This entry was posted on Saturday, January 1st, 2000 at 12:00 am and appears under Crap Poetry. Both comments and pings are currently closed.

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