This is to absent friends

the ones who barley attend

once so prominent in your life

now to busy to call you mate

 

This is to the adored

by those called

only by their last names

and are shit at drinking games

 

The ones who enjoy banter

avoid political ranter

and play football every sunday

spending their weekly pay on shinpads

 

The lad

the glads to be here

in this club 

or in this sticky floored pub

 

I remember the times you used to call me a mate

used to ring on my door bell

play football till really late

our knees muddy because of all the times we fell

 

we never used to care for 'poon'

or how often we like to wank

the good days where we used to put 5 pounds notes in to the bank

and call each other 'goon'

 

take the piss out of school teachers

not fat chicks

and gathering around slags like they are some sort of religious preachers

measuring off each others dicks

 

as i spent nights reading books

you spent you salary on cheap cider

challenging each other to ride her over there

cheap intoxicated fucks

 

I got lost in all this male fun

i didn't get a call

just waited by the door with my shin pads

wanting to be one of the lads