1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 McFaustus wailed as he left th’ ground
Frustrated an’ forlorn,
“M’ team is diabolical!
Wish I was niver born..”
A fiendish figure followin’ Faust
Whispered in his ear,
“Your football woes can all be cured,
There is naught to fear…

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Sell your soul to Satan
And the team will soon succeed,
They will win the Scottish Cup,
Plus the Premier League..
Write out a binding contract
To let the Devil have your soul..”
McFaustus thought, “It’s worth a try
T’ help m’ team achieve their goal…”

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 So he put pen t’ paper,
Then below he signed his name,
But McFaustus made a wee mistake,
T’ his eternal shame..
Th’ laughin’ stock o’ th’ town,
Subjec’ t’ ridicule an banter,
All because he couldna spell..
An sold his soul t’ Santa!!!



Ho Ho Ho!

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/spellbound/