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Through his trail in a court
We were there with support
He’s innocent until proven guilty
Concocted feeble excuses
As fellow workmates accused us
Of a sense of misguided loyalty.
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Hit a bloke with a glass
What? You’re having a laugh
A trained athlete wouldn’t do such a thing
Chinned that bird on the telly
After far too much bevvy
What Red Top comic did yer read that one in?
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Then comes the move
As they’re all prone to do
A career at the top is too short
He’ll earn ten times more dough
With that mob down the road
That’s the nature of football….our sport.
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When the new season starts
There’ll be some broken hearts
Still wearing the shirt bears his name
New names come, old ones go
Disappear like thawed snow
The fleet footed Gods of our game.
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As the team takes the field
Pre first game, it’s revealed
In the seats, he was keen for a move
You conflab with yer mates
“He could have been one of the greats
Oh well I’m looking forward to this season…ain’t you?”
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When that first whistle blows
And them butterflies float
As necks crane to digest all the action
“What his name?” “I’ve forgot”
“Couldn’t live with this lot”.
He’s old news, like a shell-suit….embarrassing.