It’s Three-o-Clock on A Saturday

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 I’ve a brew on the go
Sun’s sunk down low
Rains lashing down in the street
Flower show’s just about finished
I’ve heard David Luiz, (and his barnet that’s frizzy)
Is off… to Paree… to join PSG.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 And for fifty million quids?
That’s so much money it stinks
Still. If they want to spend it why not?
Though there’s a profit for us
He weren’t much use when the bus
Had one or two of it’s wheels taken off.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Yeah I know. We paid that for Torres
Though right now who’s bothered?
He’ll come good in The World Cup we’re told
But don’t hold yer breath
Chances of him finding the net
Are like Timbuctoo, pretty remote.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Three – o – clock feels kinda strange
When you ain’t at a game
Like a punk gobbing at a prog rock revival
Still, the tea’s finally brewed
As the sunshine begin to peep through
I look forward to this evenings Champions League Final.



Just some thoughts form a quiet Saturday afternoon.

Carefreeeeeee…braised in Celery.

Stay well, be lucky and keep smiling.



Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/its-three-o-clock-on-a-saturday/