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Semifinals won by each
The day of the finals is said
Boasting begins by the two groups 
Or supporters Two weeks to the march
Hummers for mansions
Cadillacs for damsels
One billion for one billion
Any price for any price
The day of match
Boasting uproars
All relying on the specials
Skills of theirs players

If a goal down
He becomes angry
Blaming the referee
And shouting on the betee
If two goals down
He becomes sober
His eyes red
He will sojourn on
His chair. It is then 
He remembers God
But he knows God 
Supports not
Or he will go outside
The television scenery
There he begins meditation
On how much he might,
No, on how much 
He will lose

If his teams scores one
Then he begins to concentrate
With his chest beating
Like a CD on bass boost
Two, Two? He will jump
High, off his shirt and slam
Himself on the bare floor
If they tell him he did that
He will never believe it

If the team loses he will
Cry, cry as if he had lost his
Mum, he will release his
Tie to chest level
Then he will walk home
Gently and soberly
The next day he will
Not want to hear about 
The match he will tell you
&#8220; I hate football, off that  
T.V&#8221; If it is a radio 
He slams it on the floor

If he wins he will
Go with his prize
To a beer parlour, order
Drinks for people both friends
And enemies about fifty,
Boasts more and more
Till he realizes the next day
Had come. He continues
To spend the money uselessly
Until he gets empty
Then calls himself
An imbecile. But he 
Will wait for another
March for him to bet
There is a well-known fact 
Betting is another name for luck.

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