Leave a comment on verse 1 0
The A.C. Chairman, Silvio was sure his Lads would win.
He brushed us off as dreamers, called our chances paper-thin.
But look, his cocky pre-match boasts are blowin’ in the wind,
It’s Gerrard’s hands that hold the Prize aloft!
Leave a comment on verse 2 0
Four times that European Cup had graced our Trophy Room.
And like expectant mums we sensed a fifth was in the womb.
Now Ancelotti’s Boys are beat, they plumb the Depths of Gloom,
While Berlusconi chokes on Humble Pie.
Leave a comment on verse 3 0
The tiring trip to Turkey we were glad, most glad to make.
We knew that glitt’ring Silver Pot was ripe for us to take.
Half Merseyside is o’er the moon, Milan feels like a wake,
They’re left to ponder on what might have been.
Leave a comment on verse 4 0
As we flew out on charter planes, of hope our hearts were full.
Convinced the Cup would go once more to Rafa’s Mighty ‘Pool.
And as a Spanish matador with sword sees off the bull,
Thus we dispatched the Red and Blacks tonight in Istanbul!