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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?
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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.
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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?