'I knew a simple lager lout'

I knew a simple lager lout
Who liked to turn a warning shout
Into a long, splenetic roar
When locked out by the force of Law.

In autumn, full of fizz and froth,
He ranted like a Visigoth,
And charged with all his shaven mates
At locked and bolted football gates.

His knuckles raw, his numskull cracked,
He fell when once he was attacked
By one who had not yet been barred
And flashed around his ID card.

You mindless mugs who pay to see
Some prat not worth his transfer fee,
Creep home, for you shall never know
The cell where youth and lager go.

From the book Send-Up