Now 60 and escaping to victory
an Italian Stallion with a certain creed
takes ‘em all on
not just Apollo
Oh No! He’s too macho!
A man who hangs from cliffs
in a vest in the snow
is underdressed the studios know
but he’s blessed beyond any measure
because he’s our hero.
We’d say “Rambo number nine come in now
your time is mother-fuckin up
your bandana please, its well passe…”
“No way!” he’d say
or grunt
what an awkward
fellow!
Now if in the field of lawn tennis dreams
returned the immortal one…
He’d hone his blunt noises for some brutal scenes
at the high courts and high thighs of Wimbledon.
His service would blend strawberries
his backhand whip cream
his forehand volley well gosh and golly
what a grand slam we’d get from this strong man
and when he met Arnie governor
or Bruce who dies harderer
Chuck, Jean-Claude, Steve… all those witless murderers
or Roger Federer who’s much much betterer
a lob
would
do the job
and take him
furtherer