"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 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 the arse
 I do not mean to be so rude
 But still, I must speak frankly, Mr Shankly, give us money