Football Poets

WHO AM I ???

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 I’m very over-rated,
though I act so cool and sure,
I was told when I first started,
that I played like Bobby Moore.

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 I don’t believe in loyalty,
or contracts I have signed,
and with the money men of Chelsea,
on occasions I have dined.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 If you think my name is Ashley,
then you’ve gone astray,
no, I was raised in Peckham,
down Sarf London way.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 I started out in football,
with a team from the East End,
got done for drink and driving,
after crashing on a bend.

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 I next got into trouble,
on my Cy-priot vacation,
and my team they finally sold me,
out of financial desperation.

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 I joined a club in Yorkshire,
I was thrilled to bits to go,
cos although they were in ruins,
they were paying awesome dough.

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Then from across the Pennines,
a record bid came in,
and I jumped at the chance to transfer,
and put more readies in my bin.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Everything was rosy,
I was arrogant as can be,
but a drug tester showed up unannounced,
and asked me to take a pee.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 I called up my neurologist,
and confessed my substance use,
hoping he’d use his expertise,
to prepare a good excuse.

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 ” Drink plenty of club soda,
and take an antitoxin shot,
and if they ask you about the test,
tell them that, you just forgot.”

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 But no one bought my story,
the F.A. hung me out to dry,
and the six months ban seemed very harsh,
just because I told a lie.

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 My club they stuck behind me,
by my manager I was backed,
they even made me offers,
of extending my contract.

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 I repaid my coaches loyalty,
by seeking clubs elsewhere,
by hanging out in disco’s,
and going on the tear.

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 I mean Eighty thousand quid a week,
might seem a lot to some,
but a sports career is short-lived,
and do you know the price of rum?

¶ 15 Leave a comment on verse 15 0 They said that I was greedy,
and that I’m partial to the hash,
but all that I was looking for,
was a little extra cash.

¶ 16 Leave a comment on verse 16 0 The fans they’ve turned against me,
saying all I want is dosh,
but they don’t have to buy designer clothes,
or eat in restaurants that are posh.

¶ 17 Leave a comment on verse 17 0 They made me extend my contract,
and told me not to be a moaner,
but how I wished that when I signed,
it had been Madrid or Barcelona.

¶ 18 Leave a comment on verse 18 0 I missed the England, U.S tour,
I told them I was stressed,
meanwhile at a Stockholm party,
I got punched out by a guest.

¶ 19 Leave a comment on verse 19 0 I then returned to London,
and raised almighty hell,
and got into more trouble,
by wrecking an hotel.

¶ 20 Leave a comment on verse 20 0 I mean, I could earn as much, I know,
down in Peckham with the dealers,
but knowing my bad luck,
I’d get arrested by the Peelers.

¶ 21 Leave a comment on verse 21 0 I’d get caught in possession ,
like I do out on the pitch,
so I think I’ll stick to football,
in order to get rich.

¶ 22 Leave a comment on verse 22 0 So to all you poem readers,
who haven’t figured my name still,
I’ll give you one last clue,
my name’s a city in Brazil.