Creepy Crawley?
¶ 1
Leave a comment on verse 1 0
“What’s that?” asked my mate
as I looked on the floor.
“Creepy Crawley, I think.”
And began to guffaw.
¶ 2
Leave a comment on verse 2 0
Supports Oxford, he does
so I expected some stick;
we all know what it’s like
to feel physically sick.
¶ 3
Leave a comment on verse 3 0
We’ve lost to a number
of ‘part timers’ before,
but there was something about
last night that stuck in my craw.
¶ 4
Leave a comment on verse 4 0
Outplayed, lethargic
second best, out manoeuvred,
it looked like the players
just couldn’t be bovvered.
¶ 5
Leave a comment on verse 5 0
It’s customary for Town
when at home to wear red,
but the players wore black
and played like the dead.
¶ 6
Leave a comment on verse 6 0
Opposition bosses
take note if you please:
the way to beat Swindon
with consummate ease
¶ 7
Leave a comment on verse 7 0
is to hoof the ball high
up into the sky,
hit crossfield balls
from the left to the right,
¶ 8
Leave a comment on verse 8 0
win 50-50’s, knock-downs
and fight for the scraps;
take care at the back for
there to be no mishaps.
¶ 9
Leave a comment on verse 9 0
Town manager Wilson
must come up with Plan B,
otherwise he will join
the adopted Geordie
in the land of
managerial casualties.
Comments
0 Comments on the whole Poem
Create an account to leave a comment on the whole Poem
0 Comments on verse 1
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 1
0 Comments on verse 2
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 2
0 Comments on verse 3
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 3
0 Comments on verse 4
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 4
0 Comments on verse 5
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 5
0 Comments on verse 6
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 6
0 Comments on verse 7
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 7
0 Comments on verse 8
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 8
0 Comments on verse 9
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 9