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The ground’s not too hard.
The grass has been cut.
The lines are still easy to see.
Though I’ve lost half a yard
since last we were out,
won’t you come and play football with me?
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I don’t always find
the back of the net,
but I think you would have to agree:
of the fun of each kind,
it’s the best we’ve found yet.
Won’t you come and play football with me?
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When I’ve breathed my last breath,
invitations will read:
“Kick-off noon. Pub at quarter to three.”
I’ll go not fearing death;
I’ll have all that I need
if you’ll come and play football with me.