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Hey Kids would you like a cushy number,
A job which gives you hours of mental slumber,
A billet where the silences are hardly broken
By a few drops of language as a throwaway token?
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You’ll get loads of moula just for being in the grandstand
And viewing on a screen the best footy in the land.
You’ll have a viewing partner for a little companionship
Who’ll make sure that no awkward TALK outslips.
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Sitting there in silence with your best shotgun mate
While loads of us viewers are fuming in frustration,
Even though we know the players’ names (and how many of us do?)
We still want to hear their names, and all their passing throughs.
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There’s now a worldwide audience for Premier League that’s signed up.
And how many of these viewers are familiar with the lineups?
Better Andres Cantor with his soul ”gol” Spanish spice
Than our Mr Beins and Tweedledee/dumb dealing teapot dormice.
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Come back Kenny Wolstenholme, come back Barry Motson!
Sons of Martin Tyler, go dream in Liv’s lost Lorien.
Or back to work in radio, and learn to DO YOUR JOB!
Come commentators, COMMENTATE!, and don’t us fans off fob.