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I’ve been kicked outside in all kinds of weather
“Don’t worry about her, she has skin that’s like leather.”
I’ve been kicked with in-steps, side- foots, and back heels
none of you know just how bad it feels.
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The abuse it starts usually sometime in the week
and then on a Saturday it reaches its peak.
Head butts connecting, square on my round face
and occasionally I retaliate with the knot of my lace.
I’ve been called fifty-fifty and told I am loose
I don’t know how I put up
with all this abuse.
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Being kicked almost senseless to me is no joke,
especially the pain of a vicious toe poke.
I’m swerved, curved and punted and passed all around
and men in black drop me, down onto the ground
I’ve been bounced, thrown, and flapped at and used to show tricks
and I recall a bad kicking from Julian Dicks.
Men wearing gloves punch me up in the air,
life for the victim definitely ain’t fair.
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I sometimes get kidnapped
when I land in the crowds
and at Watford and Bolton I used to hide in the clouds.
At places like Arsenal I’m just used to pass
and when I complain I get a kick in the grass.
Some like to dribble me, others to trap
and I’ve been violently hurled by a bloke called Delap.
I’ve been shot, I’ve been floated, I often get robbed
I’ve been kept as possession and I sometimes get lobbed.
I bend and I dip to make the lads think they’re good
then just to annoy them I bounce off the wood
I’ve been half-volleyed and squared
filicked on and chipped
and over the bar I sometimes get tipped.
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I’ve been caressed by Brazilians, the Argies and Dutch
and the Spaniards are fond of a very quick touch.
But the women all hate me
they say I have sinned
they rant that I am only
an old bag of wind.
They do their comparisons, see me as a threat,
cos their men love them less than me in a net.
I’ve also lost weight, I’ move much more fast,
but I still get abused like I did in the past.
So when you see me
being kicked at a wall
remember I’m a victim, just a poor little ball.