All Mouth, No Ticket
Posted: Sun May 13, 2012 8:54 amUnited till he dies or till the Sky subscription ends
You’ll see him in the pub, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends
He just can’t get a ticket for the Theatre of Dreams
But every single Sunday he gets beers in for the team
He sneers at fans of everyone, not arrogant, just better
His red shirt, 19 on the back, makes him a real go-getter
If he sees you wear another shirt he’ll come and sit right near ya
That’s why he is a “Pub Red”: it makes him feel superior
He doesn’t know the offside rule or what formation’s what
He’ll swear that in the “dark days”, he watched them quite a lot
He just can’t get a ticket now, which seems quite strange to me
This morning they were advertising on Key 103
Can’t stand City, Liverpool, and Leeds, the cockneys too
The foreigners he hates, they aren’t as big as old Man U
Barcelona might be good, but they just bought success
And anyway, the Champions League, he really couldn’t care less
On derby day in Manchester, he got his favourite seat
Absolutely adamant United couldn’t be beat
“Man City? Never won fuck all. They’ll never buy a team
Forever in the shadow of The Theatre of Dreams”
By full time he was desolate, the blues around him laughed
He downed his pint, confused and stunned, time for an early bath
“6-1? It was a fluke!” he cried and looked up to the heavens
That night he took some posters down - the ones of Jonny Evans
All he wants are victories and trophies every year
So he can gloat in the pub, and smirk behind his beer
But suddenly the team he liked to laugh at and call dicks
Are gunning for title, boy does that make him feel sick
It wasn’t meant to be this way, he signed up for success
His dreams of eternal glory have been torn up – what a mess!
So if City win the Premier League this year
Spare a thought for your local Pub Red, crying into his beer
You’ll see him in the pub, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends
He just can’t get a ticket for the Theatre of Dreams
But every single Sunday he gets beers in for the team
He sneers at fans of everyone, not arrogant, just better
His red shirt, 19 on the back, makes him a real go-getter
If he sees you wear another shirt he’ll come and sit right near ya
That’s why he is a “Pub Red”: it makes him feel superior
He doesn’t know the offside rule or what formation’s what
He’ll swear that in the “dark days”, he watched them quite a lot
He just can’t get a ticket now, which seems quite strange to me
This morning they were advertising on Key 103
Can’t stand City, Liverpool, and Leeds, the cockneys too
The foreigners he hates, they aren’t as big as old Man U
Barcelona might be good, but they just bought success
And anyway, the Champions League, he really couldn’t care less
On derby day in Manchester, he got his favourite seat
Absolutely adamant United couldn’t be beat
“Man City? Never won fuck all. They’ll never buy a team
Forever in the shadow of The Theatre of Dreams”
By full time he was desolate, the blues around him laughed
He downed his pint, confused and stunned, time for an early bath
“6-1? It was a fluke!” he cried and looked up to the heavens
That night he took some posters down - the ones of Jonny Evans
All he wants are victories and trophies every year
So he can gloat in the pub, and smirk behind his beer
But suddenly the team he liked to laugh at and call dicks
Are gunning for title, boy does that make him feel sick
It wasn’t meant to be this way, he signed up for success
His dreams of eternal glory have been torn up – what a mess!
So if City win the Premier League this year
Spare a thought for your local Pub Red, crying into his beer