Where Do You Go To, Brian Kerr?
¶ 1
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You talk like Dustin the Turkey,
And you shoot like Diana Ross,
Your clothes, they are all made by Umbro,
For you are the Irish team boss,
Yes, you are.
¶ 2
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You talked to the wee Mayfield traitor,
When all thoughts of a comeback were gone,
Yet you gave Jason Byrne just four minutes,
Your loveliness goes on and on,
Yes, it does,
¶ 3
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So where do you go to, my lovely,
When you are quite on your tod?
Tell me your selection criteria,
I want to get picked for your squad,
Yes I do.
¶ 4
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And in winter, you’re found in RTE,
With the rest of The Donnybrook set,
And you swallow Eamonn Dunphy’s water,
But you never get your lips wet,
No, you don’t.
¶ 5
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They say that when you leave Ireland,
You will go to Real Madrid,
Where the grass as they say, will be greener,
And you won’t be short a few quid
¶ 6
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Oh, where do you go to, my lovely,
When you are quite on your tod?
Tell me your selection criteria,
I want to get picked for your squad,
Yes I do.
¶ 7
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I remember the back streets of Ballyer,
Two children, begging for fags,
Scutting along on the buses,
And stealing the hubcaps off Jags.
¶ 8
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I know where you go to, Brian Kerr,
Ireland’s new footballing God.
I know many secrets about you,
So won’t you pick me in your squad?
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