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Yuke

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Yuke, you learned to play chords
on your dad’s ukelele strumming

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 to George Formby uke and croon,
“I’m leaning on a lamppost

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 at the corner of the street in case
a certain little lady comes by.”

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 The toothy comic actor leered out
between the first licks you played

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 in your deaf gran’s front parlor
among antimacassars and aspidistras,

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 a cracked 78 on the gramophone.
Lancs lad, you graduated from uke

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 to Stratocaster, robust as a black pud–
a plump blood sausage–sounds sweet

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 as an Eccles cake, raisins and sugar,
you would peal an archipelago of notes.

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Smoky northern clubs; morning stale beer
in city jiggers, ciggies on our lower lips

10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 as under a wet sky, we lugged our gear
home. Lads who might have been us

11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 blinked at us and ignored us,
got back to their scratch footer.

12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 Christopher T. George

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