by | Jun 10, 2010 | Poetry | 0 comments

Here comes Tubby Jones
Bringing out the cones.
‘Will Tubby be playing today?’ His mother said.
‘It all depends on how much he’s been fed!’

I felt such a nit,
When I told her he wasn’t fit.
‘I would love to play him in a game,
If the other lads didn’t hold him to blame.’

‘He stands still on the spot,
When he could of had a shot.’
Poor Tubby Jones does his best,
But he can’t run like all the rest.

‘You must play him’ says Mrs Jones,
‘If you don’t his father moans!’
‘Oh Mrs Jones why do you feed him so?
If you want him to make it as a pro.’

‘I’d love to put him in a team,
You probably think me ever so mean,
But I have to be fair to the other lads,
Who run and run like their dads.’

‘You need to help your son get fit,
Encourage him to run not sit,
Vegetables and salads are what he needs,
Instead of all those massive feeds.’

‘If you love your Tubby so
And want him in the team to show.
Please listen to what I say,
And he should be playing by next May!


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