It was a Tuesday night around 72,
and we’d drawn scoreless with the Brum,
when out of the players entrance,
I saw Trevor Francis come.
Waiting for his team coach,
suited like a toff,
when I asked him for his autograph,
he told me to eff off.
As I raised my two right fingers,
and shaped them in a V.
I swore I’d one day say the same,
thing to him with glee.
Fast forward thirty years,
and I have to call a truce,
when Francis is brought in from Brum,
in place of Stevie Bruce.
Ever since the day,
with Palace he was hired,
I’ve waited patiently in the wings,
until old Trev was fired.
We had a couple of —– good cup runs,
but in the league we weren’t too clever,
so it was only a matter of time,
’til we shipped out poor old Trevor.
I got the news last Friday,
a Good one it was too,
that my old mate Trevor Francis,
had finally got the shoe.
I was totally heartbroken,
that Trevor’s gone away,
so much so that I celebrated,
with a bottle of Chardonnay.
So as you unceremoniously told me,
many years apast,
do the same yourself Trev,
and can you do it fast.