Liz and Wayne
Ever since my coronation
When I was a dim young thug,
I have carved a reputation
As a type that’s slightly smug:
No matter what I’m often called,
No matter that my crown is bald.
Each graffito that they daub,
Calling former heads adepter,
I say, Mind my jewelled orbs,
Mind my very famous sceptre –
There’s no goalie I won’t dive at,
While I keep my true thoughts private.
Looking at one’s former goal,
One feels, I think, that one’s adored
Because one knows the national soul,
At home, but also, far abroad,
Scoring every once a while
(Keep them waiting, that’s one’s style).
One has vowed to serve. United.
Never mind the posh regalia.
Wham bang thank you ma’am. Delighted.
The other players are the failure.
One’s managers are rarely ribald
When they see how well one’s dribbled.