Cod Almighty | Article
by Alistair Wilkinson
18 October 2007
Everybody
It's been great, not so much for the Ceefax mate.
Great games, the results a shame but no one to blame.
Grumbles down to mumbles, still too many stumbles:
we give them away and we have to make our own!
Jones not in the zone, and Rankin fell over all alone.
Sit back relax and dream, playing well so ride the
seam. We're winning in our minds and keepsakes are
worthy finds. Five 2-1s and Lincoln and Hereford fall
away, the rest shoulda paid. Shoulda, coulda not
actually woulda.
Dream, dream, dream, dream
dream.
Our hearts broken 90 times, stitched up and sent back
out to scream and shout. Buckley's got the needle but
there's only cotton through the eye, hands thrown
high, another spilt pie. How are we here? Can we wait
till next year? Will the Butler do it?
Sing up for the sick up and take the stick up. There's
more to come, a barrel load of fun, so c'mon, come
see the sun. Fenty's prose and Town's twinkle-toes,
Buckley's shows and a crowd that knows. It's small
and not perfectly formed but it shines at times and
sings its rhymes. Everybody!
The car's outside
He's got his wife in the front seat and his
girlfriend in the boot while he sits in the
Pontoon shouting 'Shoot!'
The kids're in the back taking, taking,
taking while he sits in the Findus waiting,
waiting, waiting.
There's room for Rover and the engine's
ticking over while he sits in the Main
picking at hairs.
He's the only one that cares.