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Surveying his rebel camp
like a poncho-less Pancho Villa,
his stocky figure cast
a large shadow across the pitch.
Back on the stage
where he once drew gasps of astonishment
and tears of disbelief,
all cameras, all eyes
were drawn from the game
to his besuited paunch
and grizzled beard.
Leave a comment on verse 8 0
You’d have to have a heart of stone to revel
In someone else’s moment of despair.
You’d have to have the feelings of a devil
To watch his anguish and then punch the air.
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You’d have to be a brute to hope his team mates
Don’t score another goal to spare his blushes,
To help to wake him from this dreadful dream, mates,
And lift him from the kind of mood that crushes.
Leave a comment on verse 11 0
The world pokes fun at England’s jingo media
Who build the team to heights it can’t sustain.
The fact’s recorded there on Wikipedia –
Their arrogance promotes complete disdain.