Saturday Afternoon. South West London.

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Eau de cologne a la greasy onion
Horse dung carpeting a street
Shifty chancers vis a vis Damon Runyon
A beady eye out for the police.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Boozy balding blokes a boasting
Bout their bawdy bar-room brawls in Greece
An expectant hint of roasting…
Coffee, centre foward, rib of beef.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 “Who wants tickets for the match?”,
A friendly London voice enquires,
“Games sold out, who want’s em?”, chat
Cajoling price no object passing buyers.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Static cops stand by and clock
Street-wise bawling touts at play
Envious of expensive togs, a Rolex watch
Crime seen through their eyes seems…to pay?

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 A local T.V crew inquire of die-hard’s on the street
Their view on tickets touts, for what it’s worth?
The general consensus among most fans seems to be…
“Low-life robbing bar-stewards, absolute scum o the earth.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Er but…when yer can’t get yer sweaty ands on a brief
Coz the games sold out, and there ain’t no seats about
Everyone knows a fella, willing to ave a word so to speak,
Wiv a fella knows, a fella knows…a tout can sort yer out”.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Peace.



After reading an article in a recent programme about how our club intends clamping down on ticket touts. I had to smile…at the amount of money, I’m presuming we’re paying the police to stand about in awe, and watch said touts go about their business unhindered by law enforcement.
Mind you…as the last verse suggests…a lot of fans are also hypocrites I guess!




Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/saturday-afternoon-south-west-london/