Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held it pays my way and it corrodes my soul I want to leave you will not miss me I want to go down in musical history, Oh.....
Frankly, Mr Shankly, I'm a sickening wreck I've got the 21st century breathing down my neck I must move fast, you understand me I want to go down in celluloid history Oh.....
Fame, fame, fatal fame it can play hideous tricks on the brain but still I rather be famous than righteous or holy, oh any day, any day, any day
But sometimes I'd feel more fulfilled making Christmas cards with the mentally ill I want to live and I want to love I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of Oh...
Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held it pays my way and it corrodes my soul oh, I didn't realise that you wrote poetry I didn't realise you wrote such fucking awful poetry Mr Shankly
Frankly, Mr Shankly, since you ask you are a flatulent pain the ass I do not mean to be so rude but still, I must speak frankly, Mr Shankly, OH give us money.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
