I woke this morning, from a fevered dream,
My mind had dreamt of a winning England team,
So I shook my woolly head, threw off the duvet,
Rose to face the reality of watching England wilt away.
But this game had a result few could anticipate,
A smile wreaths the dial of gloomy Gareth Southgate,
I shake my stunned head, I stroke my gaping jaw,
Am I dreaming still or is this England in the final four?
Was it half a century ago Geoff Hurst won our hearts?
When the pop of ‘Mothers Little Helper’ topped the charts?
Dare I dream of those good ol’ days, of glories long gone,
Of 1966, since when all but the Rolling Stones have rolled on?
Oh, this is something long hoped for, if truly unexpected,
High time for the faded old red white ‘n’ blue to be resurected?
So, up to the loft I’ll go to disinter that trusty dusty back-pack;
Lets see if time’s been kind to a cheap-jack souvenir Union Jack?
If you’re in the hunt for some good clean fun
Dig out your passport and grab your elephant gun,
Now, thanks to what Don has gone and said and done
You can blaze merrily away ‘neath the Zimbabwean sun.
Don has duly given his licence to a blood sport
And the NRA give him their wholehearted support,
It’s the product of a mutual disregard for logical thought,
But elephants are on the brink of being extinct, so time is short…
Fly direct to Zimbabwe
And land in festive and restive Harare,
Say you will pay handsomely to go on safari
(But better not say Grace or Robert Mugabe.)
Get over there before the climate here becomes too hot,
It just takes a little money and you can be a real big shot,
Some say big game hunting’s cold blooded killing , but it’s not,
But hurry, if you’re lucky you might even plug the last of the lot.
So take aim, squeeze your trigger, watch another fall,
Bringing down something so big makes a little man stand tall,
So bring back that brainless stuffed head, mount it on the wall;
Perhaps Dumbo Don has left us a perfect and lasting legacy after all?