The Sunday Morning Goalkeeper
He’s a Sunday morning goalkeeper,
goes by the nickname of BNP Griff.
On Saturday nights he downs a crate of lager,
a couple of grams of sniff.
He’s the worst player in the division,
and gives the team a load of old chat
The inside left thinks he’s a chuffin’ idiot.
The captain a fat racist twat.
But last night he saw the face of Jesus,
in a tub of Arif’s spiked chicken Korma.
And this Sunday he saves souls at St Peters,
and holds hands with a black girl named Norma.