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ONLY FOOTBALL? (Actually a song but no matter!)

Attila The Stockbroker

Tuesday, November 1st, 2005

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 His forebears were the butchers on the field at Peterloo
They led the charge and cut the people down
They ruled the mill, starved weavers out, beat Chartists black and blue
Made millions in some hellish sweatshop town
I’m sure he cursed his countrymen in ’84 and ‘5
His queen called them ‘the enemy within’
He’s the overseer, the usurer, drone within the hive
Whose wallet is his god, his kith and kin

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 And don’t tell me it’s only football

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 His system defines ‘ownership’ – a mess of paper shares
A slick deal, a commodity acquired
He pulls the strings and works the law so he controls the ‘wares’
Then laughs at all the anguish he’s inspired
Now we are many thousands, and he is only one
But law and state hold him in their embrace
What kind of law, what kind of state condones what he has done?
A state where social justice has no place

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 So don’t tell me it’s only football

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 CHORUS
And above all, friends, don’t tell me please
That it’s nothing to do with years of sleaze
The shattered lives, the corporate trough
Don’t tell me it’s just a sad one-off
That it’s nothing to do with politics
That politics and sport don’t mix
Don’t tell me it’s just bad luck
And don’t tell me it’s only football

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Our grounds rose up near stations in old Victorian times
Most urban centres then were barely towns
Built for our teams, then left in trust to us across the years
By people who loved football, not just pounds
The vulture sees the soaring price of inner city land
An ailing club which he can desecrate
To us it’s pride and history, the story of our lives
To him it’s just some prime site real estate

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 CHORUS

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Our culture has been colonised, our heritage is sold
And moneymen control our national game
It’s devil take the hindmost, all hail the Premier League
And if you can’t compete, well, that’s a shame
There’s a superstore development and it’s coming to your ground
Some pinstriped butcher’s waiting with his knife
Brighton, Wrexham, anywhere – the message is the same
Let’s kick them out – of football, and of life!

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 CHORUS

Notes

Cheers everyone!
Attila

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/only-football-actually-a-song-but-no-matter/