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Money, money, money – millions of it descend
From on high as the Premiership doors open wide
To welcome you suckers. You’ll think you’re in
Heaven, all this cash to spend at will on players
Who might keep you up (but probably won’t).
Good luck, one might say…spend it wisely, spend
It well, Mister Manager.
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Or else the axe will fall, sure as day after night.
So cram them in, those inflated, overpriced bids;
The cast-offs, the has-beens, the never-wases, the
Opportunist who gets his contract every year –
Just how, nobody knows.
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You can join the party for nine long months,
An invitation to hand back come May time next
Year. And your players will scatter, no loyalty
There, and why should you expect it – you’re no
Longer the highest bidder…that’s all they’re
Interested in. Another chance in another hopeful
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Where the fans glow with replica shirt optimism,
Shelling out to suffer defeat on defeat, and the odd
Grubby draw. Never will another Forest storm
Straight to the title from promotion.
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Uncertainty would upset the big boys, they can’t
Have revenue streams disturbed – so stick your
Money in the bank, new boys. You’ll get even more
When the parachute opens.