WE'RE NEVER GOING TO GET TO WEMBLEY ...
We're never going to get to Wembley,
We never even seem to win a game,
The grass is two foot deep,
The goalkeeper's asleep,
The whole defence has suddenly gone lame.
All our goalie's ever caught is measles,
No-one's ever seen our striker score,
The winger's done a dive -
I doubt he's still alive,
He usually spends the match flat on the floor.
I think our centre-forward is a pansy,
Even if he's not, he's still a weed,
He's got his hair coiffured
And his nails are manicured,
He kisses his opponents when they lead.
Even the referee is biased,
Our manager has spent the day in bed,
And the rain is pouring down
And there's mud upon the ground,
Saturday's the day our players dread.
No-one ever wants to buy our players,
No-one's ever seen them actually play,
The noise around is loud,
But it isn't from the crowd,
Who never seem to turn up anyway.
'Cos the demolition crew is at the turnstile,
But they don't have to pay us to get in,
You can hear the machines rumbling
And our crumbling ground is tumbling,
We haven't got a ground we can play in.
We can't remember ever having had fans,
If we had, by now they will have fled,
'Cos the team that never scores,
Isn't there no more,
A brand new block of flats is there instead.