Eternal Spirit of the chainless Legs!
Brightest in shorts, Winger! thou art;
For there thy dribbling is the part,
The White Hart Lane which love of thee cannot bind;
And when the plane to South Africa consigned,
To periphery, the impact sub’s dayless gloom,
The country conquers, you long for Tottenham,
Whilst Walcott’s pace on the wing is like wind.
Lennon! the bench is thy place,
And the sad pitch so distant ’tis untrod,
Until Walcott’s steps have left a trace
Worn, his inevitable injury will be a sod,
By Capello! There’s another source of pace!
Now appeal to the bench for Lennon.
Faculties
Support Functions
Exquisite
It’s going to be huge on the terraces during the World Cup.
Aaron Lennon
His eyebrows are frightening but he’s quicker than lightening
Aaron Lennon
Why, why, why, why are his crosses too high
Aaron Lennon
Imagine there’s no Lennon
It’s easy if you try
No old fashioned wing play
Or crosses being supplied
Imagine all the strikers
Kneeling down to pray
Imagine there’s no countries
No Moldova, no Peru
Nothing to cheer or boo for
And no Shay Given too
Imagine Otto Rehhagel
Not being coach of Greece
You may say we can’t win it
That all our hope is gone
I hope our back line isn’t porous
And our games will all be won
Imagine no possession
I wonder if you can
No need for pointless square balls
A huge task on our hands
Imagine all the St Georges
Never being unfurled
We may hope to be winners
Like Steve Hodge or Big Ron
I hope someday we can make it
To the Semis and beyond