Vile of tongue and lacking in wit;
Talk the talk; but cannot commit.
Dull of mind and heavy of foot;
A preening bunch of pampered mutts;
With image rights and private jets,
For laddish foibles: no regrets;
With plastic WAGS to stroke their egos,
Their self delusions just grow and grow.
They'll blame the ball, the pitch, the ref.
They'll blame VAR; constant stress.
O they may beat their chests and try and
Point so proudly at 'The Three Lions'.
O they may even attempt it seems
To display their marks, wounds and bruises,
But to me the current England team
Are a bunch of glorified losers!
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I would like to translate this poem