I’d liken opinion to English weather
At the end of every match:
“Do we really need that big African feller?”
With that young kid the nut’s in attack”.
Angry punters queue up on phone-ins
Venting their anger on team:
“Our wide mans so slow, on that last showing
“Me gran has got more pace than him?”
A fine win away with a sound display
The travelling fans rejoice
A mid week home draw causes furore
And questions the manager’s choice.
Three-nil at home, should be seven
A hard earned away draw will do
There’s no getting stuck in by our number eleven
Whom Neanderthals coat with abuse.
On the way to a win, I sit there and grin
At the anger some fans near me have
For the blokes on our team who won’t put it in
But play looking chilled and relaxed.
With a five nil lead, there’s even a time for a read
When Sunderland manage possession
They stick one in our net, as the home fans protest
“Nah tell me it wasn’t? Yeah straight up it was Bolo Zenden.”
Belleti goes off on a terrific solo run
Leaving three of four tired Mackems stone cold
Next minute he miscues, some wag jests in fun
“Oi Juliano, turn it in son maybe you’re getting too old?”
When the second flies in there’s a thunderous din
From the Sunderland hardcore left cheering
The rest truth be known are on the long journey home
Or down in the bar being robbed getting beer in.
“Seven goals at home, unbelievable
We’ve never scored seven before”
“Yes we have,” says’ some nearby know it all
“When Osgood and co made us roar”