An Ode to the Cockerels
(With special thanks to Walt Whitman)
O Tot-numb dear Tot-numb! Your fearful trip is done,
You ended one behind the Arse, it must feel like you won,
This is our year, it’s us they fear, the cockerels all exulted,
Your strongest squad in fifty years, with two that we rejected;
But O ‘Arry! ‘Arry! ‘Arry!
Succumbed to the mighty Red,
Dreamt he would be England boss,
A-twitching his big head.
O Tot-numb dear Tot-numb! Wake up and smell the roses,
Wake up, the Gunners are in third, we’re looking down our noses;
You were once thirteen points ahead, your Bale as good as Leo,
But then the mighty Sagna struck, then Robin, Tom and Theo;
Here Tot-numb! Dear Chokers!
Do let us shake your hand,
Or else we’d upset Allen,
That cultured two-bob man.
O Tot-numb, do get real, you’ll ne’er be kings of the North,
This is as good as it can get, you ended up in fourth,
You thought you could be champions, the dream it was alive,
But then upon the Holloway Road, you crashed into 2-5;
Us Gooners are so gracious,
To you, we doff our cap,
We warned you in September, yet
You didn't mind the gap.