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Shouldn’t be too surprised
Having looked toward the skies
After watching what was never quite the biz
The Champions League we’ve won
Akin to two weeks in the sun?
Forgotten now, as harsh reality sets in.
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This is a business plain and simple
And to those tomorrow people
Who yearn for when “The £ootball” was a game
You desire an optimistic dream
Like wanting fairness from your team:
An honourable gesture, till the stakes soar high one day.
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Riches rule our game
And “The £ootball” ain’t the same
Since we sold our souls in search of “Riches Win”
Any success comes with a cost
On a winner, yet we’ve lost
“£ootballs” culture when we let the foreign money in.
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Once more the culprits strut carefree (sic),
With that look of “Don’t you dare blame me?”
To mansions in the land where Greed is God
While a decent young manager get his cards
After failing to convince a resolute old guard:
I’m Robbie, I’m astute, and I’m The Boss.
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Anyway enough on poor Robbie’s sacking
Ain’t no use in us attacking
Our oligarch who will sign his final cheque
The next disposable commodity
Now looks on with envy, thinking obviously:
I want the Chelsea job, and when I get the sack, I’m set!