How http://www.senore.com/Cricket/Ijaz-Butt-c64128 got us drinking?
http://www.senore.com/Cricket/Pakistan-c755 cricket has been a roller coaster ride, for its cricket fans. However in the last couple of years, it has just turned into a 10,000 metre drop from a plane that ends with a loud thud. The hero of this sad tale has to be Mr. Ijaz Butt, who has given
more to Pakistan cricket than Einstein could ever give to society. He has been a revelation. He has turned the Pakistani cricket fans into chronic drinkers. Just like men who have just gone through a bitter divorce, the Pakistan cricket fans are like those
broken men who get drunk in a bar and go, ‘HO HO HO and a bottle of Rum’.
In recognition for his services to the game of cricket, they have written a poem in the eternal memory of the truly great man, Mr. Ijaz Butt.
Here goes nothing...
Ijaz Ijaz burning bright,
In the darkness of the night,
What immortal man or wife,
Could frame thy s**y symmetry.
On what grounds did you aspire?
What grass did you acquire?
To send the Sri Lankans to the lair,
Of armed men with guns and flares.
From boys you transformed them into men and squires,
Are they now better players?
Because of you, we lost the game,
The sport we loved and our glorious name,
You ignorant sod, you broke our heart,
Did we just hear you f**t?
You got us depressed, glum and sad,
We stole some bourbon from our dad
And gulped it down as our wits had snapped.
You got us drinking,
You arrogant sod.
You kicked Mohammad Amir in the crotch.
As your lads Asif and Butt set the rot,
And found themselves in a rather tight spot.
Akmal the lamer, can’t take no catch in a One Dayer,
You have him as a Test player?
Have you seen the zinc smudged around his lips?
Does he kiss his brother in slips?
Shoaib Akhtar can’t walk a mile,
Afridi is going a little senile,
http://www.senore.com/Cricket/Razzaq-c84421, the man has gone blind,
Are you smoking pot, as you bide your time?
Some cheap bourbon will see us through,
Another few years or so,
Never before have we felt so ill,
We don’t think we can handle this,
As our bowlers are hit, battered and unfit,
And most of the balls clear the rope,
It makes us wonder, are you on dope?
Once again we thank you sire,
For making us drinkers for once and forever.
Ijaz Ijaz burning bright,
In the darkness of the night,
What immortal man or wife,
Dare frame thy s**y symmetry.
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