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I’d gone around and sussed the situation
In this, our most important football week,
But sadly there was no great expectation,
The prospects for the game seemed very bleak.
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The English pubs were naturally united,
For all were showing Liverpool that night.
It looked as though my chances had been blighted,
The prospects for the game seemed very slight.
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The Irish pubs were not a better venue,
All staffed by English barmaids with big boobs,
Liverpool again was on the menu,
The prospects for the game were down the tubes.
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But still I wore my Shelbourne jersey proudly,
(Naturally I put the white one on)
And through the meal I pondered scorelines loudly,
Though prospects for the game had all but gone.
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A man told me the score at half eleven,
Which sparked another seven rounds of drinks,
I’m groggy now up in my seventh heaven,
The prospects now look very good, methinks.