the state of things

 

World Cup Blues

by Elvis Shackleton - 09:19 on 28 June 2010

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone

Prevent Wayne Rooney from barking with a juicy bone

Silence the vuvuzelas and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come


Let aeroplanes circle moaning round about

Scribbling on the sky the message England are Out

Put crepe bows around the stiff necks of the lions

Turn down the volume so we can't hear the crying


They had Terry and Upson, Johnson and Cole

A flat back four with so many holes

They could not handle any ball that was long

They thought England would win the World Cup: they were wrong


The stars are not wanted now; go home every one

Back to your mansions and villas in the sun

You see, Lampard's Lost Goal was not just a fix

It's 'cause they'd sold their soul to Satan

In Nineteen Sixty-Six


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