კიდევ ერთი ლექსი ენდისთვის უიმბლდონისთვის
Roger is ready, the tournament's begun,
Rafa stands burnish'd by Wimbledon sun,
The two Williams sisters are eager to play,
Andy sits brooding, but he's like that all day!
A forehand, a volley, a backhand, a pass,
A daring drop volley lands dead on the grass,
A finely sliced backhand, and Roger has won!
(A backhanded compliment, do pardon the pun)
The ballboys all nervously kneel in their place,
Hoping to avoid being struck by an ace,
Crouching in corners, and alongside the net,
Each ready to sprint, if the serve is a "let".
Dave is on Centre, with George, Vince and Nick,
Leaving us wondering: who gets on whose wick?
The service is broken, the players change ends,
One wins and one loses. But do they stay friends?
Andy's perfecting his new brand of tennis,
One part Rod Laver to fifteen parts menace,
But whatever the fixture - small or grand slam,
He's always in earshot of shrieks from his mam.
Gordon need no longer pretend he's a fan,
Because after the election didn't go quite to plan
He's a free man again, with no duty to show,
Though many still want to tell him where to go.
It's the Wimbledon final - Roger v Murray,
Federer is floundering, in too much of a hurry,
The Scot serves an ace, the Championship's won!
. . . And still Andy looks like he's having no fun.
მიმაგრებული სურათი
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Andy "Muzzah" Murray, ვისაც ენდი გევასებათ აქეთ...
