A jab, a jab... Another jab...
A body punch... and look!
Boris Butkeev (Krasnodar)
Now lands a perfect hook.

He promptly cornered me once more:
I barely escaped.
An uppercut... I’m on the floor
And feeling quite unwell!

Butkeev was thinking, while crushing my jaws,
That life can’t be better, it has no flaws!

A ref counts seven. I still lie,
All my supporters pray.
I’m getting up, I bob and dive,
I’m scoring on the way.

It’s just a lie that I save strength
Before the final rounds.
To hit a person in the face
I can’t on moral grounds.

Butkeev was thinking, while crushing my ribs,
That life can’t be better, it’s perfect indeed!

And bleachers yell, and bleachers scream:
“A coward! Finish him!”
Butkeev swarms, he’s stepping in,
And on the ropes I lean.

But he came through. Persistent chap,
Siberian1 by birth.
I said to him: “Will you relax?
You’re running out of breath!”

But he would not listen, he only exhales:
That life can’t be better, and it never fails!

But he still hits: a hulk of sort,
A problem on my hands.
Well, boxing’s not a fight, but [a] sport
Of fearless, valiant men.

He punched me once, he punched again,
And... to the floor he slips.
A referee then raised my arm
Which landed zero hits.

He’s lying and thinking that life is quite good,
For someone it’s good, but for others it’s rude!