-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- All was quiet at Melwood, one August afternoon, Just a routine sesh, as the season started soon, Some were doing press-ups, some were stretching their knees, While Jamie Redknapp was having a wánk, at a picture of Louise. Then all of a sudden it started, the language and air turned blue, As two stubborn scousers got angry, the ripping and insults flew, The players were taking penalties, with Fowler next sharp shooter, He blasted one at Thommo`s head, and twátted him on the hooter. The players laughed like ****, Thommo didn`t at all, It hit him right upon his beak, and burst the ****ing báll, The báll was stuck fast to his nose, he felt a proper príck, It looked like a giant toffee apple, on the end of a ****ing stick. "What the **** was that?" he said, "Are you taking the ****ing píss?", "Oh **** off Thommo with a nose like that I couldn`t ****ing miss", "You cheeky little druggy ****, who the **** d`you think you are?, Have you been at the charlie again?, or showing Le Saux your árse?". "Now listen here Pinocchio, what are you trying to say?, I don`t take charlie anymore, and I aint ****ing gáy, And if you took ****ing charlie, with sniffing gear like that, You could snort a line from 50 yards, you ugly big-nosed twát". So Thompson stormed to Houllier, saying with a grunt, "I`m going to get you guillotined, you little spice boy ****", That`s when the stand off started, so Gerard got involved, The French ****`s words of wisdom, got the problem solved. His words were philosophical, articulate and blunt, He said "If you don`t apologise, I`m selling you, you ****", For ten long days we waited, while the papers had a báll, There`s nothing more that those twáts love, than to see a scouser fall. The two stood fast like gun slingers, but who`d be first to draw, As the musical chimes rang out aloud, like the film A Few Dollars More, And then the ice was broken, quite late on Saturday night, The doorbell rang at Thommo`s house, as he was having a shíte. He thought it was an intruder, so he gave his hands a wash, Then lifted his nose above his head, to use as a burglar`s cosh, But Robbie was having second thoughts, this was knawing at his pride, So he ran like **** through the garden, to find a place to hide. Thommo stood there scratching his head, nothing to see but the cat, Then a voice shouts from a bush, "I`m sorry you big nosed twát", Robbie had apologised, they hugged and kissed each other, "Sorry about that concorde nose, I love you like a brother," So thats how the saga ended, they`re now all pally pally, Scouser`s stubborness from a Kirkby ****, and a little southeast scally, But watch your árse now Robbie, Houllier cares not for a superstar, If another báll hit`s Thommo`s nose, it might just be a bridge to far. Pinched off the Liverpool rivals site but very funny
