With Apologies to Oliver Twist and everybody else.
Football, glorious football.
Don't care what it looks like -.
Burned! Underdone! Crude!
Don't care what those crooks like.
Just thinking of growing fat.-
Our senses go reeling.
One moment of knowing that
Full-up feeling from sitting on
Football, glorious football!
What wouldn't we give for
That extra bit more,
that's all that we should live for.
Why should we be fated
to do nothing but brood
Fred Babbin's Other Poems
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