Oh ‘Arry, oh ‘Arry the season’s nearly done,
Sitting in the top four, it must have been fun.

New Kings of London, you’d have them believe,
Pretenders to the throne, yet you still try to deceive.

The crown burns red and the seat gets hot,
All this hard work, and it could all be for naught.

England’s come calling, and you’ve gone to shit,
Screw this up and you’ll look like a git.

You’ve thrown away your cushion as fast as you can,
Pretty soon your team will be considered an also-ran.

Tomorrow you go to Stoke and need to finish with aplomb,
Had better tell your boys they are in for a scrum,

Wheeler-Dealer needs to get a result on the pitch,
Funny, I’ve just seen the return of the twitch.