On…Form.
¶ 1
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“Come on Micky, three to one?”,
“Kev, the bet is evens, son
You’ll win away at Spurs tonight, you always do
Bleating German, hardly through the door,
Leave me brassic, he gets top four
Still, midst your boss-eyed form, I nicked a bob or two”.
¶ 2
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“Oh, come on Micky, three to one?”,
“Do that, I’ll be in the work-house son
I’ve a vision, and three kids, to feed indoors
Listen Kev, tell you what I’ll do, seeing as it’s you
Lay you an absolutely blinding nine to two,
Over at Spurs tonight, you get a pen, Jorgino scores?”.
¶ 3
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“Okay Micky, fifteen sov’s at nine to two?
Plus…a score at threes, us winning, if I do?”,
“Okay, okay, you’re on, enough already, you’re proper getting on my wick.
I’m laying the German geezer, only stays twelve months,
Marina wields the axe, someone pushes him, or he jumps?
He’s got previous, for falling out with them, like you, trying to take the Mick”.
¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Peace.
¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Stay sage. Bode well.
27
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