Goodness, Mr Souness.

[Optimistic Nut 188]

(to the tune of The Smith's "Frankly, Mr Shankly")

 

Goodness, Mr Souness this position you've held,

It destroys my day, and it corrodes my soul

Want you to leave, won't be missed by me,

You are the worst boss, in Newcastle's history.

 

Goodness, Mr Souness, you're a sickening wreck,

You've got the dreaded vote of confidence, breathing down your neck.

You must leave fast, you understand me

Want you to go now, before this year's history. Souness.

 

Fame, fame fatal fame,

It can play hidious tricks on your brain

But still you'd rather be famous,

Than keep Robert, or Bellamy,

Anyday, anyday, anyday

 

The Geordies would feel more fulfilled,

If the manager was, bloody Arthur Scargill.

We want a manager who we can love,

Not some buffoon who we're all sick and ashamed of

 

Goodness, Mr Souness this position you've held,

It destroys my day, and it corrodes my soul.

Oh, I didn't realise, you're a master tactician

I didn't realise you were such a bloody awful tactician, Souness.

 

Goodness, Mr Souness since you ask,

You speak your post-match interviews out of your arse

I do not mean to be so rude

Still, I must speak frankly, Mr Souness.

 

Oh, give us your money!

Edited August 30, 2005 by Optimistic Nut

[Renton 21983]

(to the tune of The Smith's "Frankly, Mr Shankly")

 

Goodness, Mr Souness this position you've held,

It destroys my day, and it corrodes my soul

Want you to leave, won't be missed by me,

You are the worst boss, in Newcastle's history.

 

Goodness, Mr Souness, you're a sickening wreck,

You've got the dreaded vote of confidence, breathing down your neck.

You must leave fast, you understand me

Want you to go now, before this year's history. Souness.

 

Fame, fame fatal fame,

It can play hidious tricks on your brain

But still you'd rather be famous,

Than keep Robert, or Bellamy,

Anyday, anyday, anyday

 

The Geordies would feel more fulfilled,

If the manager was, bloody Arthur Scargill.

We want a manager who we can love,

Not some buffoon who we're all sick and ashamed of

 

Goodness, Mr Souness this position you've held,

It destroys my day, and it corrodes my soul.

Oh, I didn't realise, you're a master tactician

I didn't realise you were such an awful tactician, Souness.

 

Goodness, Mr Souness since you ask,

You speak your post-match interviews out of your arse

I do not mean to be so rude

Still, I must speak frankly, Mr Souness.

 

Oh, give us your money!

22196[/snapback]

 

 

I bet most the youngsters won't have a clue how that song goes though.

 

Also it's got nothing to do with Bill Shankley - I wouldn't mind him as our manager - and he's been dead for several years!