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!
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