Our boys dunn good on Wembly nite And gev them uvver lads wot for. O cors they neely spoild the game Wi’ all that silens just befor.
Oo wonts to fink about Man U, An sum ole plane crash years ago? Or niteclub deaths or Bobby Mor? We came ere for the game – dint you?
Our Jack and Theo shode the way – The Gunners – we noe oo we are! So stuff them Chelsea mob and Spurs. Av you got sumfin els to say?
Look at ‘im, as proud as Punch Wi’ ‘is brand new ‘at an’ all! But ‘is Judy’s always moody When ‘e takes ‘er to the ball, ‘Cos Darcy’s very classy And Wembley ain’t quite Pemberley – So will ‘is pride precede a fall? Who knows? ‘E’s out to lunch.
Sometimes I’ll go a-musing Seeking Æther’s inspiration On paths not of my choosing To an unknown destination.
But ‘Pride’? Some lions, a hero, Or an anagram of di’per? And Prejudice? (Don’t jeer, O Muse! You know I get quite hyper.)
So back to sleep, still musing On my quest to find a vision; Too proud to dream of losing! And too old to get religion.
A longed-for pint, another half; A break from endless rain. A finished job, a grandchild’s laugh; A car that starts again.
The Beaujolais, the Stilton’s tang; The orange evening sea. The days when fruits abundant hang From every plant and tree.
A place we know, a new one too; A gentle hill to climb. A welcome bed, a stunning view; A shared remembered time.
Some talk of family values, Of blood’s viscosity, While spilling it with relish And animosity.
And others look to Heaven For help with excrement. “I checked upstairs, so trust me; I’m clean, I’m innocent.”