Football Poets

Queing For A Ticket 1967

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Tis two-o-clock in the morning
The alarm has just rattled twice
There’s something about leaving yer bed at this hour
That’s spooky though then again nice

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Yer ma and yer da are still snoring
The rest of the gang are asleep
Yer gently creep downstairs in yer flat
If you wake yer ma, her wrath you will reap

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 A cold wash under the kitchen tap
A hot cup of tea, then some toast
Then quickly yer out of the front door
Wrapped up warm in layers of clothes

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Yer mates are there in the street, it’s still dark
Clapping their hands to stay warm
They’ve sandwiches, flasks, balaclavas as masks
All of them stifle a yawn

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Yer catch the first bus, there’s six of us
The double decker is getting full up
As yer make way along the empty Kings Road
Everyone starts to perk up

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Up past the drugstore, a chromium eyesore
The dives and the nightclubs turn out
You draw three letters in yer breath on the window of the bus
So that which team yer follow stands out

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Past manicured squares, LSD stares
Of hippies spaced out in the street
The bus is nearly full with all sorts
You never know who you might meet

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Up past the town hall to the art college
As the Worlds End is coming in view
The lights of the bus shine in shop windows
Boutiques, coffee bars and a school

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Excitement is starting to build up
As yer get off the bus at Lots Road
All of the side streets are churning out fans
Like the crowds go to Mecca, I’m told

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 Over the bridge to the small estate
That you walk through to get to the ground
It’s quarter to three Sunday morning
As thousands are milling around

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 To the back of the queue you make yer way
Past people asleep in warm bags
Some have been here since yesterdays game
As the struggle for places gets mad

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 You get to yer spot, drink tea that’s half hot
Laugh and makes jokes with yer mates
The boredom is soon forgotten
As daylight soon gets on its skates

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 “It’s open, it’s open” those fine words are spoken
As the queue starts to shuffle along
The fans are so excited now
That somebody starts off a song

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 At about ten-o-clock the crowd start to rock
And roll toward the ground
Yer turn at the window is minutes away
As you make sure you’ve got yer five pound

¶ 15 Leave a comment on verse 15 0 As you lay out yer dough
It’s then you know that being a fan is a killer
What else would you queue up half the night for
But Chelsea v Leeds at the Villa?

¶ 16 Leave a comment on verse 16 0 It’s there in yer hand the ticket, it’s grand
The semi’s a few weeks away
Now all is yer need is yer train fare
To go and see yer idols at play

¶ 17 Leave a comment on verse 17 0 As you trudge yer way home, half asleep
The bus journey takes twice as long
All you can think of is you’ll be there
With the fans as they break into song

¶ 18 Leave a comment on verse 18 0 The rest of the house are up and awake
The radio plays pop songs by Cilla
All you have given up is worth what it takes
For Chelsea v Leeds at the Villa!