After three of four games I was yawning
Though not from the toils of my day
Fare from the Prem seemed so boring
Like the two motdled dogs on display.*
Mates of mine journeyed to Swansea
In director’s box seats they had sat
Well I’m thankful I saved my money
I wouldn’t be pleased having paid to see that?
Games seemed devoid of all passion,
Staid like the two fading pro’s
Whose monosyllabic words on the action
Entertained me like a freshly broke nose.
I got up made the tea, thought it was me
That tired I was missing the thrills
Of committed attacks, defensive mishaps
Swanning, the odd goalkeeping spill.
Sat well narked on the sofas, no place for a bloke
Demanding the screen wake his soul
So the passion within screams: “That was in”
At replayed and debateable goals.
Didn’t feel like a Saturday night’s footer to me
Something quite clearly was up
I remedied by changing quickly over to ITV
For the real excitement of the old F.A Cup!