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[Archived] Poetic Injustice

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Walkers said to a fat agent, “We’re going to sell the Club.”

So when you’ve made a few phone calls, we’ll see you in the pub.

It was our Jacks dream, the heights they’ve seen, but now we’re on our way.

Go get an investor, with some ready cash, with the Rovers he can play.

Time passed without a bid, there was many had a view.

But without an offer on the plate, the desperation grew.

Rubbing his hands together bingo! The agent did some scheming,

After all, its power I want - for long I have been dreaming.

I need some arsehole in a distant land, as I cannot show my face.

The FA reckon to have the criteria rules, but enforcement? A disgrace.

Some dealings here, some money there. The Venkys have alot?

India - no financial rules! I’ve hit the fooking jackpot!

An ideal plan - to wash some cash, my clients not a few

If I was the first team coach, I’d have a certain view.

An ideal man, he’s at the club – his morals just like mine

He gets the job, though he’s a knob – I know he has no spine

Mrs D, Big fat bloke, the baldy Scottish nerd

They speak utter bull each day, you can’t believe a word.

They destroyed our team; they took us down, whilst the agent hid away.

The signings that he and they made, could not fooking play.

The farce goes on as they stay “in Charge”: Our club is in disarray.

Welcome then to Shabby Singh; for whom did you once play?

Shaw & Agnew – not a clue, your just muppets at the top,

for when the turd does start to fly, Coco you CAN NOT pop.

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