Stuck In The Middle And Blue!
¶ 1
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The earlier you’re there
The harder it gets
To simply click through a turnstile
And ascend concrete steps.
¶ 2
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Sounds simple enough? Too right it does
At least to a working class poet like me
Well how come in West London there’s always a fuss
Every other Saturday, just after two fifteen?
¶ 3
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New technology? Do me a favour
The turnstiles of old rarely failed
We never had thousands of latecomers
Like the ones we have now of a match day.
¶ 4
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Half an hour before kick off I stood there
With the multitudes venting their angst
Thank God for the wonderful new songs on the air
That helped pacify put upon fans.
¶ 5
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Their plastic cards? Ain’t worth a dinar.
Season tickets? What do they mean?
Entry to London Underground is easier by far
Touch an old fashioned ticket, you’re in.
¶ 6
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Anger increases to neigh mass hysteria
As pre match warm up is over we’re told
We’re still stuck outside as the two teams appear
Oi you! Roman Abramovich, bring back them turnstiles of old.
¶ 7
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Us clients left exposed to the elements
Are paying an absolute fortune
For the privilege of what, so you fat cats in our boardroom?
Wait for the inevitable to happen, due to a dated inept entry system?
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