The lie dream of The Golden Tit.
¶ 1
Leave a comment on verse 1 0
No man or club is bigger than it
Not the “R’zzz” of Reading
Or the Golden Tit
So I howled and whinced when I heard the tale
Of Wolves premature
Premiership season ticket sales.
¶ 2
Leave a comment on verse 2 0
Just as Reading found with their “victory” bus
It’s better to be humble like little old us
Don’t tempt the wrath of the footballing Gods
Because they’ll damn you sure as tits run dry
with their cursed law of sod.
¶ 3
Leave a comment on verse 3 0
To the play-offs now take your tarnished egos
Your bitten nails and your broken hearts
Where reputations count for nothing
And fighting spirit can’t be bought.
¶ 4
Leave a comment on verse 4 0
Follow in the footsteps that your little cousins trod
On our way to making history against the bookies’ odds
And approach things in a Saddlers way
Embrace humility
Be humble
and keep sod’s law at bay.
Comments
0 Comments on the whole Poem
Create an account to leave a comment on the whole Poem
0 Comments on verse 1
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 1
0 Comments on verse 2
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 2
0 Comments on verse 3
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 3
0 Comments on verse 4
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 4