Each To His Or To Her Own

I only came into the pub for to have a quiet beer
But talk of football all I hear I ask what brought me here
And I thought there was more to life than talking of football
But with that at the Local Pub few would agree at all.

One fellow said my team doing well with stress on the word my
Methought he thinks he owns the team or so he seems to imply
And then he sang a line from the anthem of his club 'When The Saints Go Marching In'
His voice was booming loud and clear above the bar room din.

Suppose it beats talking of war or politics maybe
Though football a boring subject or so 'twould seem to me
But each to his or her own as they say and those words seem so true
And to them I seemed a boring man one of the unenlightened few.

One asked me what team do you barrack for mate, I said who win or lose
Won't matter much to you or I it won't pay for our booze
At which he only laughed aloud saying you must have a team
Or in your present company you are out of place 'twould seem.

Indeed I said how right you are on this we can agree
For you are you and I are I we see things differently
He shouted to the barman give the man a beer he's not a bad old boy
Though on a few important things we do not see eye to eye.

I bought him a beer before I left, thank you old boy he said
And he started to sing 'Good Old Collingwood' the booze had gone to his head
And as I walked out in the night the moon shone in the sky
And a boobook owl called on a gum in the Parkland nearby.