I’m a happy wife,
married for years,
I really have it all,
Only one thing mars my
absolute joy –
He watches the moving
ball.
On the field or on the
court,
He’ll watch the
livelong day,
Until all the
commentators are hoarse,
And the crowd has gone
away.
“That was a foul!” or
“That was out!”
“Can’t you properly
see?”
He often questions the
parentage,
Of the unfortunate
referee.
“What a goal!”
“What a kick!”
“What a classic pass!”
I am afraid that I’d rather watch
The growing of the
grass.
Who do you want to win
the cup?
Who do you think will
win it?
Frankly I’ll say to my
dear man,
I really don’t give a
s**t.
Why is it that fully
grown men
For the same ball need
to reach?
I have a simple remedy
–
Give them all a ball
each!
