Bugger the football

Blame it on the football
Say it's just a bore
Head off for the shops
Ignore the final score

The country is expecting
But never giving birth
Our national games injecting
Its usual trail of mirth

If you dont follow footie
It really is quite sane
I'd rather watch old Sooty
Hitting Sweep again

Grown up men are screaming
At boxes on the wall
Once again with feeling
Oscar winners all.

The players are like film stars
All preened unto perfection
Owning flashy supercars
'Cos they cant get erections.

The managers are pacing
The touchlines like a track
Their hearts are always racing
A loss could mean the sack

Of course we couldnt leave
Without a word for FIFA
Who run the betting syndicate
For currency and reefers

There cannot be a scandal
The votes have been cast fair
Antartica in twenty six
I still wont bloody care!