Lyric Frankly, Mr. Shankly

Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I ve held
It pays my way, and it corrodes my soul
I want to leave, you will not miss me
I want to go down in musical history

Frankly, Mr. Shankly, I m a sickening wreck
I ve got the 21st century breathing down my neck
I must move fast, you understand me
I want to go down in celluloid history, Mr. Shankly


Fame, Fame, fatal Fame
It can play hideous tricks on the brain
But still I d rather be Famous
Than righteous or holy, any day
Any day, any day


But sometimes I d feel more fulfilled
Making Christmas cards with the mentally ill
I want to live and I want to Love
I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of


Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I ve held
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
Oh, I didn t realise that you wrote poetry
I didn t realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry, Mr. Shankly


Frankly, Mr. Shankly, since you ask
You are a flatulent pain in the arse
I do not mean to be so rude
Still, I must speak frankly, Mr. Shankly

Oh, give us your money !