Hammer
Member
Registered: 11th Feb 04
User status: Offline
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Thought some on here would like;
Let’s have a pissing contest, we’ve both got excessive dosh,
We’ll buy some English football clubs and turn them really posh.
We’ll pay off all their meagre debts, we’ll build a brand new stand,
And hike the players’ weekly wages up by over 50 grand.
I’m a middle-east tycoon, you’ve earned a stash from aluminium,
We’ll buy players worth one hundred quid for over forty million.
Like excited kids we’ll piss about with England’s finest clubs…
We’ll pick the manager… then pick the team… then pick ourselves as subs!
I’ll buy City, you buy Chelsea and won’t the media get excited?
As we dump them 3 years later to squabble over Man United.
Billionaires we may be, we’re loaded – me and you…
But when it comes to football - we haven’t got a clue!
We’ll get rid of all the youngsters that the clubs are blooding through,
And put paid to their illusions by selling them to Crewe.
We don’t want any local lads… no ruddy common minor,
We’d rather have someone you can’t pronounce from Timbuktu or China.
Let’s price out all the commoners - that horrid noisy crowd,
They sing those silly anthems altogether way too loud!
All the ranting and the chanting; well things will change round here…
We’ll eradicate the riff-raff – who needs an atmosphere?
We’ll raise the ticket prices, won’t that be a hoot?
We’ll swap the true supporter for a corporate in a suit,
Munching crayfish sandwiches and yelling out ‘Hoorah!”,
When the striker stands from 2 feet out and hits the flaming bar!
The Manager – we’ll pay him well, but won’t let him do a lot,
We’ll undermine him, then we’ll sack him if we lose 2 on the trot.
We’ll buy the biggest names and leave them on the bench to rot,
Whilst we’re swanning round the Maldives with our floosies on a yacht.
We’ll buy any players we want and pay quadruple what they’re worth
This is a pissing contest – we will gladly pay the earth….
We want to show our power and we’ll build a Super-Team,
With one single goal in mind – to boost our kudos and esteem.
We are bloody loaded and we want the world to know it,
And we’ll make the sport a mockery and laughing stock to show it.
Champions are what we’ll be – not runners up or ‘there about’,
It’s not about the clubs, it’s just our egos that we care about.
Our mission is quite simple; first year we win the treble,
Second year we win the Champions League and price out all the rabble.
Third year - we win the Super Bowl, The Ryder Cup… X-Factor
Forth year - we’ll kill our rivals with our nuclear reactor!
When we win, we’ll sit up in the stands, and clap like merry hell,
And when we lose we’ll find the goalkeeper… and kill the infidel!
And when we’ve finished meddling…one gloomy Saturday,
We’ll espy another train-set; get bored and walk away.
Leaving clubs reduced to ruins and in such financial trouble,
That they’ll liquidise their assets and sell their grounds for rubble.
And as they disappear from sight we’ll laugh and open more champagne…
“Let’s find another pissing contest… that one’s gone down the drain!”
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