Stick to the Football!
¶ 1
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When I of Rooney first did read,
I wept, and cried for joy:
“Our scouts have come up trumps at last,
Unearthed a Wonder Boy…
¶ 2
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So, Man U, eat your heart out,
Take cover, Liverpool.
With Rooney in our ranks, by God,
We’ll show you just who rules!”
¶ 3
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A new Campaign’s now underway,
Alas, joy’s turned to grief.
Once more The Blues are Basement Boys –
It beggars all belief!
¶ 4
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And what’s become of Wunderkind?
Where is Boy Wonder Wayne?
He’s hanging out with birds that pout,
And shooting off to Spain.
¶ 5
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Pray pin your ears back, Wayne Lad,
And hear my sound advice.
Although the words I’m set to say
May not seem very nice:
¶ 6
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Stick to the football, Wayne Lad.
Stick to the soccer, Son.
There’s still loads left for you to learn,
Much work yet to be done.
¶ 7
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When Dixie Dean had turned eighteen,
He earned far less than you.
He came of age at twenty-one,
But made no great to-do.
¶ 8
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No glitzy parties did he throw,
He shunned the media glare.
He just went out and played for love,
For wealth he had no care.
¶ 9
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He wore no sharp Armani suits,
He plugged no Sponsor’s wares.
His only studs were on his boots,
He never dyed his hair.
¶ 10
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Let William Ralph your model be,
Not Bestie or Stan Bowles.
Forget the hype, revert to type,
And score some bloomin’ goals!
¶ 11
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You know, Dear Boy, that actions speak
Much louder than mere words.
So do your talking on the pitch,
Forgo the booze ‘n’ birds.
¶ 12
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For though you’ve won some England Caps,
You’re still a fresh-faced rookie.
Don’t enter pubs, keep out of clubs,
And steer well clear of bookies.
¶ 13
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Do you recall that strike you hit
Last year against the Gunners?
You brought us fans all to our feet,
No question, ‘twas a stunner!
¶ 14
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So wake up, wack, we want you back,
Have no more truck with Judies.
Pull on your shirt, get ‘mongst the dirt,
And score us a few beauties…
¶ 15
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Just knuckle under, learn your craft,
Admit you’re still a Pup.
Once more The Toffees face The Drop,
It’s vital we stay up!
¶ 16
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Stick to the football, Wayne Lad.
Stick to the soccer, Son.
And ne’er forget what luck you have,
To play for Ev-er-ton…
¶ 17
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8/12/03
Denys E. W. Jones
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