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Poetry By: Shane P

A first person account of being a football hooligan

Submitted:Mar 4, 2013    Reads: 10    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

Feel the tension rise,

The week is passing by,

The excitement in my glory;

Of handing out black eyes,


It'll soon be saturday,

It's where the danger looms,

Meets with hardened firms,

And psychotic goons,


Abandoned railway tracks;

Thats where we like to meet,

Away from public eyes,

Away from public streets,


We take the private coach,

And start heading east,

We're ready for the battle,

Adrenaline is increased,


Two bitter rival firms,

Will soon go head to head,

A war that guarentees....

That blood will soon be shed,


It's all kicking off,

Punches are being thrown,

Glass bottles are being launched,

Along with bricks and stones,


The police soon arrive,

With their CS gas,

Sheilding their own eyes,

And dodging flying glass,


This time we get locked up;

In dirty smelly cells,

Admiring our bumps and bruises,

As limbs begin to swell,


I can't wait till next weekend,

So we can do it all again,

I love being a hooligan,

And dishing out the pain.


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