Oh, no, it doesn’t make me mental,
Even though it’s the West London Rental,
Don’t need VAR, no judge, nor jury
Not with goals from our fookin’ Youri,
We don’t want to lose to Chelsea
Everybody's got their Covid orders
Don’t leap on anyone, no disorder,
Bussed in like morons, bloated with Panda Pop
So come from the boys from the Spion Kop
Men sat in a coma, dressed in white coats
Are they our droogs, no, just the usual scrotes
One’s named Cliff, the other’s called Jobber
Don’t worry ladies,
That’s their usual clobber
I’ve seen defeat, it no longer moves me
Fuck the past, we’ve watched the movies
The one where Keyworth nets a late consolation
Or the rocket from Neil Young, a shot that stilled a nation
Fifth time lucky, we’re LCFC
We’re going to Wembley, to beat the Chelsea
Elvis, Wortho, The Attraction