Why oh why does my England let me down.
I start each tournament with hope but a frown.
The hype and the drama, as my hopes build up.
That within my lifetime I will see England with a cup.
Every time we hear of England’s greatest keeper Banks
And how to Hurst & Peters, we should give thanks.
To the Charlton’s & Moore, Cohen, Hunt, Stiles & Ball.
Finally Wilson, world cup winning praise to you all.
But I wasn’t born then for the glory, which can make me sick.
Only on repeats on the telly I have seen Geoff score his hat trick.
I want my own memories to bask in, watch Rooney scoring a winning goal.
Free kicks from Beckham, an offline clearance from Cole.
I only having fleeting moments of pleasure from tournaments past.
Gazza against Scotland & Robson in twenty seven seconds – fast !
I want tears in my eyes as the England captain lifts up the gold.
With my kids in my arms, before I get too bloody old.
Will it ever happen I don’t know, but keep hope in my heart.
And to help this magic transpire I will do my small part.
Because from Sir Alf up to Sven, with all between including Hod.
We MUST win one day, after all he’s an Englishman you know. God.