Can I 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
They put him in a highland division,
Sent him off to a far foreign land,
Where the flies swarm around in their thousands,
There's nothing to see but the sand.
Now the battle that started next morning,
Under the Libyan sun,
I remember our poor Scouser Tommy,
Who was shot by an old Nazi gun
As he lay on the battlefield dying (dying dying),
With the blood gushing out of his head
As he lay on the battlefield dying (dying dying),
These were the last words he said:
Oooooh, I am a Liverpudlian,
and I come from the Spion Kop,
I like to sing, I like to chant,
I go there quite a lot .
Support a team, that plays 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 left them feeling blue
Five Nil !