The World Cup is upon us,
The flags are hanging out.
I hate the hype and fuss;
What’s it all about?
I strongly declare,
“I shan’t watch them score!”
I haven’t a care,
I’ll find it a bore.
Group stages begin,
There’s a terrible din.
It’s on in the next room,
I hear the telly boom.
Second round, whistle blows,
Anticipation grows.
It’s just a hum in the background,
Volume down, barely a sound.
Then they play team 3,
And it’s tight – I can see.
We’ve not necessarily won this,
I’m hoping they don’t miss.
Unbelievably, we’re in the next stage,
And England are ablaze!
I’m screaming at the telly,
As my legs wobble like jelly…
Now I’m watching it all,
And cursing at the ball.
Telling the team just what to do,
As if somehow I have a clue.
The World Cup is upon us,
I’ve completely changed my tone…
I love the hype and fuss,
And singing, ‘Football’s Coming Home!’