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His ‘and in the ‘Jack and Jill’
He’s spouting off this spiel
Reminds me of a spiv without the tache
You know the kind of face one sees
Whispering guardedly in the street:
“I’m buying, selling tickets for the match?”
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A nod as good as a wink
Toward a player, plays for him
Heard he laid a massive bet on a first throw in
A ball dispatched toward the bench
So well rehearsed it seemed as meant
Gave a whole meaning to the phrase: we’re winning.
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Adorned in sharpest suits and ties
He’ll prowl along the line
Shouting orders, yelling yap yap yap
Reminds me of a bookie
Who shrewdly sneaks a look see
At a white-gloved runner practising tic-tac.
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Seems like it’s been an age
Since our brown envelope brigade
Did dodgy deals for signatures of lads
Who would have played our game for nowt?
Until the dough was slung about
And saw what filthy lucre there was to be had?
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Back-handers, agent’s fees
Will grease the palms of sharks like these
And rob your local club of needed cash
Kinda funny self same bloke
Has a left a list of clubs nigh broke
Departing prior to everything going crash.
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Will the mud flung ever stick
Fast on this Teflon coated clique
Who ruthlessly exploit and think it funny
A kind of reasoning comes to mind
Whenever thinking of this kind
They’re ever so adapt at managing…dodgy money!
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We’ve all heard Judas be exclaimed
At grounds and even during games
Or the strokes we’ve pulled to get a new face in
He’s joining us, no he ain’t
He wants another ten per cent
Beneath the table or he’s off to manage them!