Headcase

 D’ya know what?

I know we use the word

And term, headcase

Far too randomly,

We abuse the very fragments

Of its sentiments,

In an exaggeration of

A tale we’d like to dress up,

But believe me, he was

A right f*****g nutcase,

A true loony in the proper

Sense of the word, yep

The word headcase did well

And truly imply to him –

He was indeed, a right

F*****g headcase –

 

He used to sit over

Somewhere in the Clockend,

A devout Arsenal fan

Through and through,

A season ticket holder for ages

Until they threw him out.

He would walk amongst

The away fans,

In London for the game,

In his pocket was a water pistol,

Filled with his smelly urine.

If the enemy had an away

Scarf, he’d squirt it down

Their back, but if he’d had

A few beers, he release it

In their face –

 

His sister had just had a baby,

And in his madness he

Connived a scheme, he

Collected her dirty nappies

And brought them to the game.

And when we’d scored a decisive

He’d go charging to the away fans

And amid the wild celebrations

Toss a s****y nappy into their stand.

 

And after the final whistle

He’d go into the pubs on his own,

The boozers where the away fans

Were drinking, and deftly blend

Into their crowd –

And while some were in the

Toilet, or buying some f**s

At the bar, he’d drop five E’s

Into their pint glass, and swiftly

Continue his prowl –

 

Once we were away in Europe

For a game in a distant land,

Where he managed to get into

A rumble, with some fans

Who were seeking a row,

And when one smashed him in

The head, with a blunt stick

And an axe, he calmly picked

Himself up and grabbed 

Their weapons back,

The blood was pouring freely,

But headcase wasn’t perturbed,

He nigh on killed his assailants

Then treated us all to a round.