1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 They’ll try so hard, but won’t hold steady,
They’ve lost three of their best, already.
Gerrard, Murphy, Gary Neville,
It’ll be too hard to reach that level.
The best they’ve been since sixty-six,
When Gazza posed, displayed his tricks.
This time around, I bet my wage,
England won’t reach the second stage!
The Swedes will beat them three to one,
Larsen and Co. will spoil the fun.
A rousing draw with Argentina
Will make the record a little cleaner
But will not help them in the end
As Super Eagles will extend,
Their class and talent somewhat fairer,
Than 2-1 wins against Old Eire!
So whatever happens, where or when
It makes no sense if you blame Sven!
He tried so hard, one must confess
And got them out of Keegan’s mess,
The Battle’s lost, though not the war
There’s much at stake in two thousand and four.
For once good luck might be a pal
And bring success in Portugal!
In case these words are proven wrong
I’ll simply stop and change my song
If these predictions all fall flat
I’ll slowly, gladly eat my hat!

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/group-of-death/