A DAY AT THE RACES

 

A skinny brunette with hair in pigtails

A busty blonde with a ponytail

Overweight lasses showing their bellies

Some eccentric sorts wearing green wellies

 

Women in shorts too small for their arse

Some dressed up showing some class

Several who’ve just crawled out of bed

Mutton dressed as lamb – enough said

 

White skinned redheads wearing no bra

Leggy birds show all getting out the car

Baggy combat trousered youngsters

Extremely skimpily dressed funsters

 

Mothers clad in coloured print dresses

Vixens and vamps and painted temptresses

Elderly folk wearing sensible shoes

Lads on the pull hunt in threes or twos

 

Middle aged man-eaters dressed to kill

Bold young stunners dressed to thrill

Schoolgirls dressed up to look thirty

Thirty something’s dressed to look dirty

 

Tuppenny tarts and fifty-pound whores

Bored housewives fed up with the chores

Young professionals and people of note

People used to wearing ermine not stoat

 

Middle aged geezers who ate all the pies

Absent-minded, gaze wistfully at the skies

The hooray Henrys suited and booted

The Nuevo riche who’ve snorted and tooted

 

Spinster aunts with cheeks glowing

Half cut bimbos with tattoos showing

Hormones raging with alcohol and heat

Game young women viewed like meat

 

Girls of all ages wearing shorts and vests

Tops that barely cover their chests

Those who dress nicely for the party

Drink too much and still look tarty

 

Short, skirted fillies showing all

Phone to their ear making endless calls

Stumbling about sucking on fags

Half drunk and acting like slag’s

 

From dawn till dusk they drink all day

Losing money and dignity along the way

Dressed in suits, beachwear or like clowns

A day out at the races on the Epsom downs

A GOLF OF DIFFERENCE

 

I have been playing Golf for years

And sometimes it makes me curse

But it doesn’t matter how bad I play

I know next time it could be worse

PLAYING A WOOD

 

For most of us weekend golfers

The only wood that is essential

To carry in your golf bag

Is a finely sharpened pencil

RUNNING GENES

 

Scientists say there are now

Running Genes

But surely it would chafe

If you ran in Jeans

I RAN A PERSONAL BEST

 

I ran a personal best

In the 100 metres

And my new record is

Almost 80 metres

TO DRY GREENHOFF’S TEAR’S

 

1976, in May

Doc’s red army

Witnessed the young guns

Fail at Wembley

To that iffy goal

Scored by bobby stokes

When Coppell hill and co

Failed to beat McMenemy’s men

A motley crew

Of has-beens and nobody’s

The sick, the lame and the lazy

Won the day

2005, in May

The red army

Witnessed Fergie’s men

At St Mary’s

By two goals to one

Relegate them

To the championship

The old division two

Almost thirty years

The saints were a thorn in United’s flesh

Finally, the ghost of 76

Has been well and truly laid

HERR BECKENBAUR

 

Oliver Khan the man of the hour

If you talk to Mr. Beckenbaur

But its different it would seem

When he's talking of the German team

Because if you put them in a sack

And gave the sack a mighty whack

Whoever it was received the blow

Would in no doubt deserve it so

IT’S A FUNNY OLD GAME

Every Saturday it’s the same old story

With are mates we bathe in the reflected glory

As our heroes play the beautiful game

We sing and cheer and chant their names

They get at them early doors in attack

A Drag back and he’s skinned the fullback

What skill he’s left the fullback for dead

The strikers there and wants it on his head

He heads the ball but no it’s hit the frame

The crowd all chant the strikers name

Another attack, Pass & move Give & go

The home teams putting on a great show

The ball comes to the striker as planned

But what a save it’s in the keeper’s hands

Again the ball comes to Johnny on the spot

He shoots did it go in? Was it a goal or not?

No goals and the last minute, one more chance

The fullback is passed like he’s in a trance

The balls in the middle and shot against the bar

The striker has an open goal he misses by far

We boo and jeer and chant their names

The striker is pants and it’s a funny old game

HAND OF GOD

 

It was in Mexico in nineteen eighty six
When English hearts sank to the floor
When England were to meet Argentina
In the world cup quarterfinal draw

On that infamous night it occurred
The event that made the spectators roar
Diego Maradonna their great player
Had to use his hand to help them score

The English players protested in vain
That Maradonna had used his hand
Amazingly the referee gave the goal
Something that I still don't understand

There was much discussion with the pundits
The video replay confirmed the cheating
Ironically his second goal was brilliant
And sealed the result of our defeating

Maradonna used a hand to help him score
But Diego claimed it was the hand of god
Argentina believes he is a national hero
The English all know he's a cheating sod

FOUR YEARS TIME

 

They said we’d never make the trip
Along came Sven to steer the ship
Injury time deep we win a free kick
Golden balls scores with the final kick

The group of death they put us in
They said that not a game you’ll win
Well we reached the quarterfinal
Losing to Brazilian’s inspirational

We will be back in four years’ time
To great new heights we will climb
Our place at the top we will regain
And we will win the world cup again

FORFAR 5 EAST FIFE 4

 

 

My boy has just got into football
Which is a very good thing after all
His choice of team worries me though
As he's chosen Charlton Athletico
I don't want to put him off football
But it's not Charlton Athletico at all
He may find the truth a bitter pill
As it's really Charlton Athletic nil