Farewell Brazil it’s all but over.

Two one to equador is pretty dire.

Time to head home, back through Dover

Then decide who to keep and who to fire.

So much for this cup for another four years

Why do we always raise our hopes so high?

We just get rowdy after too many beers

And keep telling ourselves it’s worth a try.

So soon the team will come home

No silver, but nice and brown.

Next time, they’ll say, and we’ll all groan

Once again we feel let down.