Mid Morning. St Stephens Day.
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Our goalies been flattened
Left back’s right leg shattered
Right back has broken his arm
Left half’s been beheaded
Centre half looks as if
His balance could cause some alarm.
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Our right half is struggling
To shake of a mugging
Result of a blimmin good kicking
Whilst out on left wing
It’s right looking grim
For a winger with daisy roots missing.
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A spry inside right
We had worshipped last night
Is out for the count on the deck
Whilst his partner in crime
Further out down the line
Has a space where there once was a neck
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Our cute centre forward
Lies face down on his forehead
Our inside left spark out close by
Our game plan gone awry
We can do nowt but cry
Whilst wiping real tears from our eyes.
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Our excuse for the cud
Which resembled a rug
Is ruined, cut up, and I’m being consoled by me muvver
Will mates offer me solace?
When they come round to play us,
Seeing Subbuteo chaos, caused by an innocent wee bruvver!
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