Now all the clubs chased the dream
Endeavoring to reign supreme.
The price for some of this wrong doing?
Devastation, financial ruin.
But wait! What’s this? A wealthy saviour
To put an end to this behaviour;
A tycoon willing to invest
With genuine enthusiasm, zest.
Our hero has sound business links;
He’ll use them to help us out methinks.
He’ll prob’ly invest ten million pound,
Help us build a brand new ground.
First he appoints an experienced man,
One who’s known to every fan.
Pays him twenty grand a week:
Men like that, they don’t come cheap.
While the fans think they’ve got the best
The youth team bus is repossessed.
Wrong priorities I hear you cry,
But money man’s a shrewd, sly guy.
About soccer he understands naff-all,
But business-wise he’s no-one’s fool.
Pays himself a consultancy fee,
Witholds this news from you and me.
Whilst the outlook on the pitch is bright,
In the inner sanctum things ain’t right.
Money man wants progress quick,
But council boys suspect a trick.
A new ground built on flood plain land;
This surely can’t be very sound.
A new ground built on a flood plain!
Is he for real or quite insane?
Money man’s getting itchy feet,
Threatening to turn up the heat:
The outlook’s very far from sunny:
He’s saying he’ll withdraw his money.
Within the month our chap’s departed,
Supporters sobbing, broken-hearted.
The manager has jumped ship too,
No-one knows quite what to do.
Gradually the truth emerges
Through the press in daily surges.
Our friend had expensive taste,
Nearly laid the club to waste.
Paid himself a whacking sum
For merely sitting on his bum.
Champagne quaffed when with his mates;
Told you he’d expensive taste!
The moral of this sad tale then?
Just never trust the moneymen.
True, they may just save your team,
But most of them run out of steam.
They play the most appalling trick;
You know? The one to get rich quick.
But we’re the ones who foot the bill
When greedy hands reach for the till.