Sorry you say, but why are you so,
Is it cos’ of the heartache down the Walton Breck Road,
Is it cos’ of the mother who felt so much pain,
When her son or her daughter died in Lepping Lane.
Are you sorry because, you can’t stand it to hear,
That the families were greiving, while you stabbed them right here.
Right here in the heart, you twisted the knife,
Rubbed salt in the wound, and you shattered our life.
While Liverpool, in shock, wished back their lost sons,
You peddled your evil, told the nation we’re scum.
Blood on our hands, that what you spread,
Not a thought for the reds, there’s 96 dead!
So apologise, yes, that’s what we’ll do,
But not on our own, well do it with Roo,
Yes we’ll con a Scouse’ icon, into signing for us,
Then those miserable Scousers will stop making a fuss.
They will buy our newspaper, and our profits will soar,
And about our disgrace, we’ll talk no more.
That’s why we’re sorry, cos’ we lost so much cash,
And Murdoch’s not happy, as it’s gone from his stash.
Fifteen long years, a million tears,
And money’s the reason for all of your fears.
By Mike Nicholson.