Poem for the Bundesliga matchday: Long live the boycott!

Get in, two, many Holtbys!

It's pretty far to Berlin.
So Holtby's Lewis asked:
"Coach, do I have to go there?"
In the hope that a rest is.

He did not stand in the starting lineup
And as if to maintain a pride,
Saw the striker no obligation
Such a long bus to drive.

He goes to the end of the season anyway.
And unlike lying down
Football game often hurts:
You can get on your feet,

You have to walk, back and forth,
And you can feel the lungs burning,
And you think, "I can not do more"
And still has to continue

And maybe get the ball
Full pot to the pear
And in the worst case
Thousand stars and stars

All this saw the man ahead.
And as if he does not like it,
He exclaimed, "Coach, my home
I prefer the distance! "

But the coach announced
Angry Lewis Holtby, him,
Because he sinned
At the team, at the team.

That went down in Berlin then.
End result: zero to two,
Down two tables,
Ascension questionable. Gar over?

But boycott: High he should live
As the coming principle!
Strive for peace before time,
Completely out of business,

Say goodbye to the monster
Dauerstress and Arbeitsjoch –
Oh, Mrs. Klöckner, oh, Mr. Scheuer,
Would not that be for you? No? But.

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