1. |
||||
|
It's too late for postponement
No time to hone my moves
If I could sit this game out
My technique will improve
But the gaffer picks the team
Yeah I know he picks the team
Though I'm sure there's been a slip twixt page and ink
I don't think I'm up to this - oh
Leave me on the subs bench
Choose someone else to play
My grace and poise, my heart and legs
My eye for goal all gone away
You surely must know just how much this team means to me
Oh but I'll let you down
Oh leave me on the bench today
The first-team lads can take this
Just bring me on at the death
My lucky socks are in the wash
My skills have upped and left
So the crowd will curse my name
Yeah I know I'll get the blame
Think carefully before you bring me on
I'll just do something wrong - oh
Leave me on the subs bench
Choose someone else to play
My grace and poise, my heart and legs
My eye for goal all gone away
You surely must know just how much this team means to me
Oh but I'll let you down
Oh leave me on the bench today
But the gaffer picks the team
Yeah I know he picks the team
I wouldn't dream to pick the team
No no when the gaffer picks the team
And I'm not sure what he's seen
in me when the gaffer picks the team
Though I'm sure there's been a slip twixt page and ink
And though I hear it from your lips
I don't think I'm up to this
I'm fine here on the subs bench
Don't go and spoil my day
Oh but I see the striker's coming off
And my number's up, it's on display
I wish I had an injury
A ninety minute stitch
Oh but the hand's upon my shoulder now
I'm on the pitch
|
||||
2. |
Copa Mundial
01:18
|
|||
3. |
FIFA Broadside
01:46
|
|||
|
Stop what you're doing to the beautiful game
Your legacy will be infamy and shame
Something to cheer would be the resignation
Of the international federation
These are the greys who think they own the World Cup
Venal, preening, greasy, spineless, corrupt
Very skilful at backhanders
Pay the board the naughty fee
The fans won't pay the penalty
The fans won't pay the penalty any more
Take the money from the suits
Give it back to the grass roots
Take the money from the suits
Give it back to the grass roots
We'll take the power from the top
Closing down the old boys' club
Don't you think that we don't spy
When you tamper on the sly
Hoof the prices to the sky
You've been telling porkie-pies
We'll take the power from the top
Closing down the old boys' club
We'll take the power from the top
Closing down the old boys' club
You're corrupt and you know you are
You're corrupt and you know you are
You're corrupt and you know you are
Fifa is just a bad joke.
|
||||
4. |
||||
5. |
The Ballad Of Ali Dia
04:43
|
|||
|
If George Weah rang a Premier League club to recommend me
Would I not be happy?
And if David Ginola rang to second George Weah's words
Would I not be happy?
And if the legendary Graeme Souness asked me to the club
Would I refuse?
From Blyth Spartans reserves to the Premier League
Would I refuse?
Still they say -
Ali Dia is a liar, is a liar
Ali Dia is a liar, is a liar
Ali Dia is a liar, is a liar
Ali Dia, pants on fire
If a man called my office and said he was George Weah
Would I not believe him?
And if David Ginola called to confirm George Weah's words
Would I not trust him?
And if they told me they'd found a Liberian prodigy
Would I not sign him?
And if that prodigy turned up on a Friday morning
Should I not sign him?
Still they say -
Ali Dia is a liar, is a liar
Ali Dia is a liar, is a liar
Ali Dia - no liar, no liar
Ali Dia - no liar
But I ask you
But I ask you
If George Weah called for you
If David Ginola called for you
If Graeme Souness called for you
If Southampton Football Club called for you
If stardom called for you
If stardom called for you
Reader, what would you do?
What would you do?
|
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6. |
Penalty Shot
05:16
|
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7. |
After The Tournament
03:01
|
|||
|
Echoes of fleeting feasts
We roared like rutting beasts
This turf accursed and blessed
Now comes the soldier's rest
Abandoned stadia
Futures that never were
We know who's won and lost
How much did all this cost
The shadows dissipate
The baubles roll away
We laud the fortunate
After the tournament
Hush now, we're only spent
After the tournament
We laud the fortunate
After the tournament
Many will just forget
Hush now, we're not dead yet
|
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Keshcology London, UK
Freewheeling leftie home of Bleak House, Nice Scream, Keshco, Vile Brain Samples, Andrew Walton, Simon Waldram etc. Library
music, folk pop, synths, poetry; mostly Creative Commons licensed. Free or pay-what-you-can. Always excited to hear when our pieces are used in your productions, so do let us know.
Keshco: Friends who play psychedelia, synthpop, folk, cut-ups, jingles. Homemade since 1994!
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