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Oh, Jaysus, this gathering’s a wonderful sight,
With me looking down at you here from a height.
The tuxes ill-fitting, the collars too starched,
And the heating turned up to make everyone parched.
But as for myself, I look dapper and smart,
Don’t you agree I was born to the part?
I deserve this award more than any of ye –
And therefore this evening is all about me.
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The voting produced a result that was fair,
That’s why I’m up here, and you’re all down there.
No point being humble and coyly reserved,
This honour bestowed has been richly deserved.
I’ve no need to grovel; I don’t need to crawl,
I don’t want to thank anybody at all.
My less skilful team mates will surely agree
It’s right that this evening is all about me.
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To the ref who ruled out my fine screamer ‘gainst Bohs,
It’s better to harbour no grudge, I suppose.
Though it’s hard to look back without feelings of rancour
I feel I’m a liner, and he’s just an anchor.
And my manager’s tactics? It’s hard not to scoff.
I give a wry smile when he’s pulling me off.
But he’s just a dunce, while I’ve got a degree,
And that’s why this evening is all about me.
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Last year my talents were cruelly ignored,
It’s about bloody time that I got this award.
I’m marvellously patient and not one to moan,
But Brian must be ready to pick up the phone.
My fans are insistent I pull on the green,
But who should make way? Is it Duffer or Keane?
So Brian, if you’re watching, its easy to see
I’m great, and this evening is all about me.
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I’ll stick with my team mates through thick and through thin,
At least, till a much better offer comes in.
And then tell your grandkids you played with me once,
And bask in their gob-smacked and awe-struck response.
Who needs Ronaldinho or Beckham or Figo?
They’re skilful all right, but they’re lacking in ego.
So Mister Mourinho, don’t baulk at the fee,
Can’t you see that this evening is all about me?
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There’s rumours that Arsenal have put in a bid,
Though I hope for a phone call from Real Madrid.
No more will I toil through the mud and the shyte
Of Terryland Park on a cold Friday night.
But when I’m a star, I’ll remember my roots,
And send back my second-hand Predator boots
If you had any skill, you could climb up the tree,
But sure, that’s why this evening is all about me.
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Very soon, I’ll be there upon everyone’s lips,
Dining on pheasant, not chicken and chips.
While you are all freezing in Richmond or Bray,
I’ll be sipping champagne down in Montego Bay.
But don’t be disheartened, don’t be too dismayed,
We can’t all be top of the football parade.
So raise up your glasses, go down on one knee
And bow down, for this evening is all about me.