1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Sick to my stomach, try as I might.
But muggings they happen most every night
A mixture of anger and sheer frustration
Wallet, cards, cash and a snap of my angel
We created chances, deserved the win
But it’s a cruel, cruel game that we’re all in.
They defended well, at times prayed to St Francis
But you can’t win games if you don’t take chances.
The more it went on, our scoring malaise
The more it seemed it’d be one of those days
Vexation, ferocity, fury, frustration,
Rico, a word, please, divine inspiration.
Susceptibility? Indeed, to a debauched sucker punch,
A leech appeared, to make me regurgitate lunch

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Time ran out, the cup was lost, I could barely find a rhyme
‘Til they arrived to taunt us as we exit scene of crime
As we left they sidled by to show us the crime spoils
Anger bubbled over; on our bum they were the boils.
Incitement, goading, provocation, coming from the Dross
God help those human parasites on their next trip to the Cross.
When Drogheda became quite flush, post raid on Northern bank
Was this the best sterling could buy? The lowest social rank?
Fury engulfed my every vein, “breathe” and keep some sense
On second thoughts we’ll cancel that, where’s the off licence?

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 A few cans later, bus pulls off, blood pressure back to normal
We laughed and cried, hypothesized, our language far from formal.
We sang, we drank, we told some jokes, ideas for sketches, while
A bizarre Chippendale conga danced up and down the aisle.
5am the bus pulls in, On the Grand Parade we’re dropped
Still sick and raw and empty, as a taxi I co-opt
I reach into my pocket to get money for the fare
My wallet taken by the Dross, infesting Ollies lair.


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