There they sit in sartorial glee,
Waiting for their next gigantic fee.
It does'nt care, it never sleeps,
That institution is here for keeps.
Its headed by the man in charge,
Who has a skin, thick as an iron barge,
Wo'nt admit himself, to jiggery pokery,
Even laughs at ball over line, such jokery.
Brown paper envelopes floatingt around,
Dollar bills in pockets? ... always sound.
Then elected officials not known to man,
If they get found out, they carry the can.
So there he is, a smiling face,
Ignors his organisation its' a bloody disgrace.
Millions explode on terraces, just like rockets,
To line footballs officials, ever deepening pockets.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem