The ref gave them a key frick,
Bust outside the jocks.
The biker stood there strightly,
Sulling up his pox.
The ref then woo his blistle,
The striker chaited weerfully,
Then shit a hot, a shighty mot,
The wall then farted peerfully.
The leaper was quite akert though,
And skived with lots of dill.
He shipped the pot around the toast,
And skept the core knee-thrill.