Cold Shoulder.

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Our Mairead don’t like The Arse
To say she hates them would be…harsh
While David Luiz bears brunt of her dislike
Took it right personally I‘m told?
Him racing down The Caledonian Road
En route to transfer talks at The Emptiness on his bike?

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Cut off her Pre-Raphaelite Irish dancing hair
Dropped learning Portuguese in sheer despair
As the once iconic blue boy turned his back and walked away
From her beloved Stamford Bridge
Where she idolised him like a teeny bopping kid
Despite our Mairead being sixty-five come next birthday.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 “Kev, him signing for them is a bleating pain?
He could have easily gone to France, or Spain
Anyone but them bleating Gooners would be okay”,

“Mairead, try to be realistic me old mate
Him being well past his sell by date
Means we’ve more than a chance of a double home/away”.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Over at The Emptiness, in North London yesterday
During a first half break, in a period of highly competitive play
A red shirted Brazilian spotted a familiar face in the away end looking glum,
“Mairead, ain’t seen you for ages, how yer doing babe, what’s the score?”,
A quip, a neatly coiffured Barnet of West London deemed her duty to ignore…
“Let that bleating Judas have his bit o fun…I’ve laid a long un on us bating them two one”.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Peace.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Barnet…Fare. Rhyming Slang for hair.
A long un. One hundred of.


Our Mairead has had a blinding touch
But she ain’t exactly saying for…how much?

A Happy, Healthy and Prosperous 2020, to all fellow fans and poets.

Peace. Kev.

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/cold-shoulder/