Cup Runneth Dry
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Sat down, front of telly, quiet and polite
Couldn’t be worse than last Saturday night
Started quite well only one team on top
Until a long hoof ball came, don’t let it hop!
One down can’t believe it, I hate deja vu
God then intervenes, with a sweet flicky boo
Baptista falls to the ground, holding his face?
Paletta in his hand a small can of mace
Justice dispersed, for a quick cup of tea
Julio still blind duly dispatched the free.
Gonzalez had gone, stoppage time would affix
If we could level again we’d be back in the mix
Cross into the middle, Jerzy hastens departure
Then Song knocks it in with his right Spanish Archer
Little Jeremie strayed 3 or 4 yards offside
Setup number 4, linesmans flag by his side
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Half time now upon us, my face set to stun
How could we be going in losing 4-1?
TV commandeered, Soapstar Superstar
Not much resistance, it was all quite bizarre
Retired upstairs with my little transistor
5live, some reprieve? Please Mr. Green sir
By the time I had it quite properly tuned
The beast had dispensed a fifth fatal wound
Gerrards stunning volley, took me from my tome
Then Sami, like many before, headed home
A flicker of light, it would soon be diminished
They forgot to tell Gabriel Christmas was finished
The last rites they were given, not a moment too soon
The Kop still blasted proudly its one final tune.
All tonight proves as they head for the showers
Is, their reserves are for sure far superior to ours
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