Boarding the bus in Clapton,
The lad in the England top
Sucked slowly on a pink straw
From his can of fizzy pop.
Though kitted out with sports gear,
It all seemed like a drag
For him to climb the bus-steps
After stubbing out his fag.
Perhaps the trackie bottoms
Were only meant for show
But the fat lad was a winner
In the race for going slow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem