Brass Balls aka if ifs and buts were players with guts we’d have won the trophy
¶ 1
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I’m supposed to be the Real deal
but my balls have turned to brass
and everyone is saying
I ain’t got no class
we hadn’t kicked a ball in anger
when my lunchbox hit the news
oil drained out of my engine
when they slated my tattoos
thousands bet their houses
that I’d stick those pens away
but I couldn’t score from free kicks
and my passes went astray
they did give me a banjo
but I couldn’t hit the cow
I’ve emailed Jonny Wilkinson
he’s gonna to show me how
I tried to do a nutmeg
but ended up with some old spice
the icing on the cake would be
Geoff Thomas’ advice
I couldn’t hit the barn door
Sven knows how hard I tried
so in the end I decided
to leave Heskey stuck inside
Rooney stole my thunder
cuz he never read the script
he broke his metatarsal
and my concentration slipped
the truth is I was tired
and I really wasn’t fit
those are the reasons
England didn’t make it
I was asking lots of questions
I set my stall out early doors
but I had a sneaky feeling
that we’d win the Euro wars
if we’d defended at set pieces
if I hadn’t cut my hair
if the Swiss ref had his glasses
if Stevie knew Henry was there
if the penalty spot was even
if ‘Safe Hands’ was still here
if my old mate Scholesy
scored at least a goal a year
if Silvestre had got a red card
if we’d thrown on some fresh legs
if we’d outjumped Postiga
if we’d gambled all our eggs
if Zidane had been English
if Rio had taken the pee
I wouldn’t be taking flak
I’d be holding the trophy
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