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You ain’t no oil painting, we can’t deny it’s true.
But you’re pretty as a picture when you’re kitted out in blue.
With your toothless grin, and your stud-marked shins, and your EFC tattoo.
So, don’t go changing, Duncan, that’s our plea.
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I wouldn’t care to meet you down an alley late at night.
I heard your old schoolteachers say you weren’t exactly bright.
Yet I’d love to have you on my side if I got into a fight.
Oh, don’t go changing, Duncan, stay the same.
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A powder-keg, you’re all set to explode.
A time-bomb primed, you tick, tick, tick away.
Volcano-like, just itching to erupt.
Dear Duncan, please don’t change your style of play.
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You’re handy with your elbows, you headbutt like a ram.
They flash red cards before your nose, but you don’t give a damn.
You punch like a piledriver and kick like a young colt.
Now don’t you dare change, Duncan, ‘cos you’re worth your weight in gold!
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You’re sure no choirboy, Duncan – you’re a brawny Big Bad Lad.
Though it ain’t your fault if you get sent off, it’s them refs who’re all half mad.
You’re up there ‘longside Vinnie Jones, Di Canio, Cantona.
No, don’t change, Dunc, we beg you – we adore as you are…