Football Poets

“Dear Lord”

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 “Dear Lord”
I’m terribly sorry for your loss
Is there a worse time to die…
On Good Friday of all days!
Well apart from Christmas
You expect everyone to be happy then.
I’m gutted for you really.
It’s put me right off my Easter eggs
If only I’d waited until Monday
When they’ll be half price
Down the Co-Op.
I know it sounds strange
Speaking ill of the dead
But Jesus Christ mate
How could you?
I mean…
Faking your own death?
What are you?
Some kind of benefits cheat?
And just before a General Election too.
That Nigel Farage bloke
Is gonna have a field day with you
If he finds out.
Probably accuse you
Of being one of those asylum seekers
On the way to Dover
Claiming some sort of persecution.
If I were you
I’d keep it quiet
And not blab about it.
But when did you ever listen to me?
Not surprising seeing as we only
Pretended to chat
And that was when I was a kid.
I guess I’m too far down
Your list of priorities.
So I’m not too bovvered
If you cop a deaf ‘un…
But if it’s not too cheeky
I know a bloke called Gavin
He’s been having
A bit of a bad time recently.
Dunno if you know him
Or if he’s one of your type
Ahem, so to speak, no offence!
But I do know..
You’re a bit special…
In the Paul Daniels department.
It’s not for me, you understand
The poor chap must be under
A lot of pressure at the moment.
So if you can help him out…
I’m not asking for
One of your spectaculars.
None of that fishes and loaves stuff.
We don’t need that water into wine trick either
To be honest…
More bloody wine on the terraces
Is the last thing we need at the moment
The amount some of our ‘nouveau’
Middle class fans can quaff.
Sorry, me old mucker, I’m rambling.
Nah, what I’m trying to say is..
As you know my name ain’t Thomas
But I am a bit of a doubter
So if you could put me right
And help Gavin out in the process-
Three points from Witham Town tomorrow
Would be bloody marvellous!
If you could sort that out…
Well, I’ve probably gone on
A bit too much already.
Maybe we could just chat some more on Sunday
When you’re out and about.
And perhaps we can discuss
The Enfield Town game on Easter Monday.
I’m sure all sorts ask you
For all sorts of ridiculous things.
Surely two little wins
For the once mighty Hamlet
Ain’t too much to ask for?
Do that mate and even I
Might believe in miracles!
I won’t push it…
I mean…you’re quite fit and all that
But with that scruffy beard
I’m not gonna call you
A ‘sexy thing’ at the same time
Even though you might get me
Believing in miracles.
Oh..and get rid of those sandals.
Once you’re through the Tunnel
That’s if Farage was right,
Head to Lillywhites
And pick up some cheap Reeboks.
People might take you more seriously then.

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