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Re-hired, then fired, The Special One
Told, Frankie Lampard, “Sorry son
Come in, collect ya cards, be on yer way”,
A brooding bawling Conte met his match
Packed off home, tin-tacked, dispatched
To do his highly coiffured nut in Serie A.
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Us fans don’t like some deals she done
Till the heady elixir of…having won
Washes any trace of divided doubt away
After all, to win is not the only thing
To win is…the bleating everything
Ask any fan, post-match, on any Saturday?
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Could have hired practically anyone
But, winning here and now, ain’t how it’s done?
New gaffer needs some time to find his feet?
Our business model scoffs aloud at this
Success, winnings become a mega business
I’ve yet to see a losing fan-dance down the street?
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Franks loyal old muckers, to a man
Talk: being given time, the bigger plan
Utter balderdash is what you’re spouting chaps
Our man’s plans clearly all at sea
On telly for die-hard Blues to grimace at, and see
No more so, than in the recent Leicester match.
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Marina purred, “Enough, enough
Can’t sit here, and watch such dire stuff
That time has come again, when I must act
Our Frankie clearly hasn’t got a clue
How to change things round or what to do
If his game plan should body-swerve off track?”.
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Nicked four points, in our last two games
Revitalized a few old angsty frames
To pulling on the shirt, the slate wiped clean
Training grounds awash in smiles
There’s cheering fills the empty aisles
From our subs, not out there toiling on the green.
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Yes! Marina comes up trumps again
Finding a name to compete and play the game
Of winning matches, when right now there’s little else,
Who cares whom got the old tin-tack?
We’re off the sofa, soaring, scoring, back on track?
Thank You Marina, for taking Thomy* Tuchel to Chels!