Oh! have we now a dream waistcoat,
For football’s nigh on fleeting;
A head a foot so odd then sold,
And almost got one cheering.

And, too, while passing with said feet,
Where Russians all are seating,
They say, Gareth this waistcoat
That you so sport is melting

Hearts. A frowning fearing defeat,
For, yes, our boots are bursting,
With upturned heels and grinning toes,
That song echoes: years hurting.

Ah! How they stare team yass whirling
With penalties not our bane,
They shout, pass it now it’s Sterling
Or failing that there’s him: Kane.

Oh! have we now a dream waistcoat,
For poetry’s loss is all
A head a foot so odd then sold,
Waistcoat waste not, oh football!

Notes:

[This poem is dedicated to England’s necessities and wants.]