American Lie
Long long time ago, I can still remember, how the Stretford Paddock drove me wild
I knew that if I did my time, up those steps then I would climb and Busby’s love would hold me like a child
The ’85 start made me shiver, at those 10 games Fat Ron delivered
Then 91 through 2005, I’ve never felt so much alive
I don’t remember much about, the day our leaders sold us out
In Glazers trough they’ve stuck their snouts, of that there is no doubt
So fuck off little weasel dearest Malcolm bye bye
Trade our soul to get a Chevy as the debt was so high
Fergie’s sold us down the river, guess that makes him a twat
Hang on…. Real fans aren’t allowed to say that, real fans aren’t allowed to say that
Do you recall great goals from Spark, and chased at night through Stanley park (or soaking wet in Rotterdam)?
Your Grandad’s handed-down ST, replacing worthless LMTB, token sheets, pay on the gate
Well we know the richest club’s in shit, trading heritage for debt and PIKs
Net spending’s truly bizarre, disenfranchised that’s what we are
Our leader’s lapdogs say ‘you can’t say that’ (with their half-n-half scarves and jester’s hats)
But you’re the ones they thought about, the day they sold us out
So fuck off little weasel dearest Malcolm bye bye
Trade our soul to get a Chevy as the debt was so high
Fergie’s sold us down the river, guess that makes him a twat
Hang on…. real fans aren’t allowed to say that, real fans aren’t allowed to say that
I met a lad who watched the Blues, and I asked him for his derby views, he just laughed and walked away
I went back to the Stretford end, to find my bones they wouldn’t mend
And the steward said ‘what the fuck do you want you raggy arsed pariah?’
And on the networks the apologists screamed, the old guard cried, still the Glazers beamed
The Real Fans remain outspoken, their spirit’ll not be broken
And the greatest manager we’ve had throughout, who brought an end to the 25 year drought
He forgot his roots (of that, there’s no doubt), the day he sold us out
And we were singing…
So fuck off little weasel dearest Malcolm bye bye
Trade our soul to get a Chevy as the debt was so high
Fergie’s sold us down the river, guess that makes him a twat
Hang on…. Real fans aren’t allowed to say that, real fans aren’t allowed to say that