|
|
To the tune of "Henry Lee":
Call yourself a manager,
You pudding-basin haired clot,
Your voice hasn't broken,
Your balls haven't dropped.
You won the World Cup
In your stupid white boots.
Now you turn up for work
In flat caps and shell suits.
And at first the crowd roared but now they're just bored,
Singing "la-la-la-la-la
la-la-la-la-lee
What the fuck were you thinking,
Oh Franny Lee?"
This might perhaps best be moved to "Film, Theatre and TV" to join all the other six feet under threads, unless we want instead to talk about squeaky-voiced midfield general Alan Ball.... |
|
|