More sinned against
¶ 1
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We seem more sinned against than sinning,
For they smite us when we’re winning,
And we’re grinning all the way
To three more points.
¶ 2
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Our opponents end up crying,
For the red cards keep on flying –
No denying that we play
With aching joints.
¶ 3
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Four league games, four dismissals,
Matches rife with urgent whistles,
Ref just bristles when they let
Those tackles sting.
¶ 4
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And the red cards that they brandish,
Though at times a mite outlandish
Are a grand dish that they set
Before the king.
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