Offered another seat in the ground
At cost by a mate of mine
Meant I’d to adjust to strange surroundings
Arriving in plenty of time.
Stuck behind the net is not the best
Place to take in the game
Or gazing in awe as you do toward the pew
Where one usually park’s his frame.
Warnings in the match day magazine
About staying sat in our seats
Were impotent threats that paper thin
Not one soul took heed.
Reminded of being stood up in “The Shed”
Brought fond memories racing back
Till the language I heard assaulting me neck
Near brought on a heart attack.
Now I’m no prudish punter
And I’ve heard some stuff before
But me mates were knocked asunder
Shellshocked by a mad furore.
Said language had a sort of slant
I couldn’t fathom out at first
Twas like a kind of stereo whining cant
Wild cats are known to verse.
The next onslaught did me ears in
So I turned me head to see
A muvver and her offspring
Verbally slinging it at both teams.
Would the stewards come and chuck ‘em’ out?
So we could watch the match in peace?
Lets face it would you fancy a row?
With two wordly birds, unless backed up by a score of police?*