Although I enjoy making everyone smile,
this poetry game's gotta stop for a while.
The trouble you see is the missus is mad,
'cos I sit around with a pen and a pad.
She says I'm neglecting her and the kids,
now I've started to write poems for my fellow yids.
I look out of the window ,scratching my head,
thinking about my next humourous thread.
I stare at the paper 'til everything blurs,
then jump out of my seat screaming COME ON YOU SPURS.
I type it all out and then give it to you,
but I've got a wife(gotta give her one too!)
I need to get my priorities right,
or else I'll end up in the dog house tonight.
So you won't be hearing so often from me,
You'll have to make up your own poetry.
This isn't goodbye,it's only a rest,
and then I'll get more of these rhymes off my chest.
I hope that everyone here understands,
PS,if you love Berbatov please clap your hands.
:clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: