Poor Scouser Tommy
Let me tell you the story of a poor boy
Who was sent far away from his home
To fight for his King and his country
And also the old folks back home
So they put him in a Highland division
Sent him off to a far foreign land
Where the flies swarm around in their thousands
And there’s nothing to see but the sands
In a battle that started next morning
Under an Arabian sun
I remember that poor Scouser Tommy
Who was shot by an old Nazi gun
As he lay on the battle field dying dying dying
With the blood gushing out of his head (of his head)
As he lay on the battle field dying dying dying
These were the last words he said…
Oh… I am a Liverpudlian
I come from the Spion Kop
I like to sing, I like to shout
I go there quite a lot (every week)
Supporter team that’s dressed in Red
A team that we all know
A team that we call Liverpool
And to glory we will go
We’ve won the League, we’ve won the Cup
We’ve been to Europe too
We played the Toffees for a laugh
And we left them feeling blue
Two — Nil!
Three — Nil!
Four — Nil!
Five — Nil!
