DK Poetry

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A striker runs at Lovren, and Lovren starts to retreat If Lovren goes back any further, he'll end up in a pitchside seat He kicks with his left, He swings with his right, But with each foot, he's equally shite Lovren keeps getting picked, but he really is poor It's a matter of time 'til the other team score Now to his right right, is the useless Slovak, He's been here a while, but I wish he'd go back. We keep conceding, Gerrard wears a frown He wanted to the title, but we look like going down. I go to the game and the crowd are going mental, I wouldn't trust Rodgers to shop at Radio Rental. Who would have thought when so close to the dream? That just a few months later we'd be such a shit team. Yes the crowd did dream, when he spent that money, But now we're just shite and it's not fucking funny. *frowns and takes a swig from pint

I can tell where every one of youz from Just from reading your posts I can spot the woollyback heathens Even today, when dressed as ghosts Cos no true scouser would entertain Stevie leaving The Redmen And if they dared to whisper that round me They'll all be fucking deadmen If you cut Stevie in half he'd bleed red He's a Scouser through and through And he's from the proper half of town He's a red and not a blue Yet some of you from out of town Would send him far away You might not know about this club But that's not the Liverpool Way You lot would probably be happy With a team with no scouse part A team made up of foreigners Without a Liverpool heart So if you have no respect for what he's done, what we have had Then fuck off and support Chelsea Go and be a rent boy lad *sneers with disdain

Luis Suarez is no racist He just didn't like that Frog And it's not his fault his bite reflex Is that same Scrapyard Dog Luis just wants to play football And Luis just wants to succeed And if he doesn't score and win Then he's going to make you bleed But if Luis was a racist One man he'd surely berate Is that useless twat playing right back The one who's his own team mate Nah, Luis is a good lad A Scouser born elsewhere He's never been a racist The FA's case weren't fair It's a shame that Luis left us And now we're totally shit Cos when he wasn't scoring goals I liked the bitey bit With Luis here moments weren't dull And the ticket price seemed fair But now we've got Balotelli up front And I truly fucking despair!

I've not posted on RAWK for ten years or more It's where the deluded sheep graze With it's so called poems of squirrels and shit I'd like to set that place ablaze! But LFC forums are full of wools And do-gooding know-nothing twats The kind of fans who know one song And treasure their jester hats! See when I was a lad, we queued for The Kop It was all working men from L4 But now it's all Welsh and Noggies and wools Buying shite from in the offal store That's what's wrong with Anfield now Clapping mancs as they get subbed off The greasy wop should have been booed But he's taking applause from the toffs We've also got players who just don't care Who amble about in the game And fans that sit there on their phones Taking pictures that make me ashamed So you lot can talk about Red & White Kop But realise you're just the same The reason the team and the atmosphere's shit Is all you wools are to blame!

Four hours til kick off and I'm shaking like a shitting dog I cannot eat a thing and I've pebbledashed the bog Now I'm off to town for a pint to settle the nervous tension I'll be honest as I walk in the Kop I'll be feeling some apprehension But as I leave the ground I fully expect to be walking proud and tall And Real Madrid will have learnt that Liverpool's the best of 'em all!

'Twas the night before Real, and here in my house She's in the kitchen, she's making some scouse; I've got the ale in and I'm sat in my chair I won't be tomorrow, tomorrow I'm there; With a hope in our hearts and a dream in our heads; We'll create a noise that Real Madrid dreads; I'll be there on The Kop with a song and a clap, And we'll make the noise that put us on the map, When out on the pitch there's a clash of the titans, And as it kicks of the atmosphere heightens. Away down the wings, Sterling in a flash, Tears into Madrid, and gives it a bash. The memory of European nights echoes like a blast, The lacklustre weekend is now in the past, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a driving force Gerrard with a pinpoint steer, A little run from Moreno so sharp and quick, I knew in a moment he must cross it quick. More rapid than eagles his teammates then came, And we screamed, and shouted, and called them by name: "Now, Hendo! now, Mario! now Allen and Sterling! On, Gerrard! on, Lallana! we can see the ball curling! To the top of The Kop! to the top of the Anny! We all hold our breath as it falls to that fanny!" You can hear a pin drop as Mario lets fly, And we all fucking groan as it goes in the sky *looks furiously at the wall

Brendan I've got some question for you lad I'll start by asking why we're so fucking bad? I know Suarez has gone, and Sturridge ain't fit But surely we shouldn't be playing so shit? How have we gone from Poetry in Motion To looking like we haven't got the faintest fucking notion? We were slick, we were fast, we were sharp and precise Now we run round like the three blind mice? So answer this Brendan, what is the plan? How are going to win games without Dan? When will the new signing come to the fore? When will we stop being so fucking poor? *looks at trainees

I've slept on it now, had time to digest I closed my eyes and I had a good rest Y'know we didn't play great, but we took the points home We've had better nights, like that one in Rome But I woke up a red, and I'm not feeling blue Cos this is a storm that we have to walk through So bring on your Real, Ronaldo and Bale They'll become characters in a new famous tale Because just like back in 2005 When nobody fancies the reds, then we thrive!

This great club, back in the day Would rule across Europe, and win titles in May Robbing Lacoste t-shirts on our way Let's go again, that's what I say Now we face Real, and people have fear But I'm going there and I'm drinking beer For I trust in Brendan, In Brendan I trust We'll raise our game, a victories a must The European nights are not all they were Cos all of the welsh and the noggies are there All the daytripper will be wearing their hats I'll shake my head and think "Wool twats!" Can we win the match? Can we score more We can do it again, we've done it before *gazes into mid distance

I'm not bacon lad, give it a rest I've got a purple bin I'm from the place that's the best

We shouldn't have sold Adam Now that lad could play But all these foriegners They're all fucking gay Football's a man's game a game of hard knocks Not a game for fannies And scared little cocks

I'm not hear for friends I don't need your words I just do poems and rattling your birds

That Jose lad playing at halfback I'd like to give him a fucking good clack He's thicker than granite And twice as dense He's no footballer, it's all a pretence We've got a scouse lad, his name is Flanno But this foreign manager won't give him a go

We had a scouser sitting on the bench While that Mario lad was making a stench I don't know why we play him, he's useless and French Get the scouser in the team even as a young lad, it was always his dream