Mo never had it easy, he moved when he was eight,
Took refuge from Somalia with nothing on his plate.
A champion needs one teacher, and then he can begin,
But changes would be needed if Mo was going to win.
Salazar runs a bootcamp where the rules are very tough,
There’s a treadmill in the bedroom, you’re never good enough;
He says Mo’s running like a girl, his shoulders aren’t in place
And the last four hundred metres is where you win the race.
A dumb reporter wonders if Mo would change his call
“Would running for Somalia be preferable at all?”
“Look mate, this is my country. I’ll say it clear and loud
When I put on Great Britain’s vest it makes me feel proud.”
Five thousand is the hardest, the third time he’ll appear,
There’s ten guys in the field with faster times this year;
He’s knackered from the interviews but Mo’s not going to fold,
‘Cos Saturday’s are magical and we want one more gold.
So many laps they’re jogging; with less than two to go
A hero needs to take his chance – would you believe it’s Mo?
Those spindly legs keep driving, how can he go so fast?
There’s challengers all round him but none of them get past.
It seems as if he must be caught, one man against the rest,
He’s fuelled by his training, believes he is the best;
He wins with guts and effort, intelligence and style
And we are all included in that gorgeous winning smile.