90 minutes.

The football’s on the telly
Grab your tea and take your seat
It’s QPR V Villa
The home team’s hard to beat.
No score for each at half-time
Few chances to be fair
“He’s hit that well, that fella”
Says the pundit in the chair.
“Bit boring” states the brother
Who had a trial at Leeds
A broken metatarsal
Reshaped his wants and needs.
“Who’s that fella for the Villa?”
“Which one?” – “The Spaniard there”
“Top scorer in La Liga
Or France, or else somewhere”.
“Well, he’s rubbish for the money”
Says the uncle just walked in
“For fifty million quid
I’d rather Dusty Bin”.
“Dusty what?” says young Peter
“A bit before you son”
Ted Rogers with the questions
Sunday night and 3-2-1.
Just as we start complaining
About over the odds fees
Number eleven strikes it
And brings us to our knees.
What a goal for Villa!
“He’s struck it sweet as day”
What do you think now uncle
“He’s surely earned his pay”.
We’re none of us impartial
Now praying in our heads
Please let our Villa win this
Send us happy to our beds.
Five minutes have been added
Oh come on referee
Where did you find five minutes?
At most we’d give you three.
The seconds pass like hours
As we hold on to our lead
The whistle sound thrice tooting
The only calm we need.
It’s over, three points added
A famous victory
We’ll celebrate ‘til next week
And repeat the misery.

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