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Pal of mine was out last evening grafting
In his hackney trying to earn his-self a crust
Trade weren’t exactly what you might call sparkling
But with bills to pay, then a dour night’s works a must.
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Hailed on Fulham Road he found an handy parking space
“To Stamford Bridge?” His fare politely said
Via his mirror he thought to himself: “I know this punters face
With the halo nestling snugly on his head”
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Through freezing streets, he drove and started smiling
As his punter glowed and chatted from the back
Halo on this geezer’s head was that beguiling
Well it almost drove this pal of mine off track.
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Nipping through the back streets near the stadium
This pal of mine was beaming with delight
HE was actually in the back of his cab, making conversation
Like he kind of lived around there all his life.
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Past the spots where onions frying leave a heady scent
Where blatant touts flog tickets, next to cops
The punter in the cab had treasured memories
Of the nights when champagne bottles blew their tops.
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As the hackney pulled up sharp outside Utopia
Where West Londoners like me are prone to dote
Crowds on their way to see the Brazilians playing Russia
Instantly recognised the punter by his overcoat.
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“That’s a fiver guv” says this pal of mine to his punter
As a ten pound note was paid, and change was spurned
In that moment I was texted, winter suddenly turned to summer
With the news The Special One had just returned!