Well not really dead but really sick

All the usual fun things

Like taking a fat woman

Up her locked back door

I used to be a famous footballer

But then a war came along

Wars are always great fun

Especially if one does not care

For the enemy or their country of origin

On day one and a half I was hit by a shell

And nearly drowned next to a rave

During the next few days I kept falling over

And was told by a doctor

That my leg was missing

Which was fucking careless

As my local railway had not installed

A cripple lift but a rough level crossing

Which meant that for most of the day

Strawberry Halt was covered in wheelchairs

It also had implications on my football career

As I was unable to play in the second leg

Against Who Gives a Shit About Your Country FC

We won the fist leg one nil but it should have been two

As I missed from the spot in the last minute

I hate fucking dogs as they never keep still

Well that is me/ I am going to spend /The rest

of my miserable life/ Trapped in a wheelchair

Annoying people/ getting in the way /and collecting smells

In a few years I will qualify for a mobility scooter

Which I will promptly drive under a bus full of spongers

La colère du peuple /Or so the song goes