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We haven’t won a Trophy for nigh on thirteen years.
We’ve had enough of moping and crying in our beer.
We’re tired and sick of taking stick from Koppites and from Mancs.
We want a Sugar Daddy to get us back on track.
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We want a Sugar Daddy like good ol’ Johnny Moores,
To splash out on big Signings and make us Great once more.
The type of bloke who’d let us win three Titles in a row,
‘Cos Kenwright’s nice ‘n’ cuddly, but he’s rather short of dough.
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We don’t care about his politics, his morals or his Creed,
His colour or his social class, his nationality.
The only thing that matters is that he’s got what we need:
A whopping stash of lolly in the bank.
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He’d help us win the Derby, he’d make us Number One,
He’d not take us to Kirkby, he’d revamp Goodison.
He’d subsidise match tickets, or let us in for nowt,
He’d make Roman Abramovich look like a down and out.
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We want a Sugar Daddy – Bill Gates would do just fine.
So if you read this poem, Bill, please drop our Club a line:
The Other Team in Liverpool, the name is Everton,
We’re desp’rate for a Daddy, so come on, Bill, come on!