Them blokes are meant to be me mates
Muckers, chinas, pals
Well our friendships just been blown away
From where I’m sat just now.
A Sunday morning kick off
On a icy frozen pitch
Saw me lying in our goal mouth
Face down in dog s.it.
Me old mans cap had fallen off
Me hair was caked with mud
A bleeding nose was pumping blood
From a pretty nasty cut.
Tights beneath me track-suit
Supposed to keep me warm
Were ruined and hardly any use at all
What would I tell me mum?
As the trainer helped me to my feet
Team-mates turned and looked away
When the manager said “Who’ll go in goal
And take young Kevin’s place?”
As they looked at my predicament
Of a bloodied nose and s.it
“Sorry boss I’d like to” came out all innocent
“But his track-suit doesn’t fit”.
So I took me place between the sticks
And played on like a man
With a claret coloured hankerchief
In me muddy gloved right hand.
No-one ventured near me
That bloody nose, the smell
I’m sure I looked a weirdie
To the other team as well.
The snow came down and settled
So me vision was obscured
Of the players, ball and referee
My shouts of “keepers ball” ignored.
Now the part that breaks me heart
And caused ructions with me mates
The game was called off, stopped, postponed
For fear a players leg might break.
As me team-mates hit the dressing room
The trainer poured hot soup
“Get that down yer quick lads and soon
Back on team bus we’ll troop.”
Thirteen mugs of soup he poured
Only twelve were drunk
The talk was of great goals we’d scored
And dazzling solo runs.
“Who ain’t drunk their soup up then?”
The trainer whined and moaned
“My gawd we’ve left young Kevin
Stuck out there alone between the sticks
Unaware the games…postponed!”
So I fell out with me team-mates
Cos they left me out on a snowy pitch
With a bloody nose, freezing cold
All alone and….. stinking of dog s.it!