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| Smiths All Smiths Frankly, Mr Shankly Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position Ive held it pays my way, but it corrodes my soul I want to leave you will not miss me I want to go down in musical history Frankly, Mr Shankly, Im a sickening wreck Ive got the 21st Century breathing down my neck I must move fast, you understand me I want to go down in celluloid history Fame, Fame, fatal Fame it can play hideous tricks on the brain but still I rather be Famous than righteous or holy, any day but sometimes Id 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 Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held it pays my way and it corrodes my soul oh, I didnt realise that you wrote poetry (I didnt realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry) Frankly, Mr Shankly, since you ask you are a flatulent pain the arse I do not mean to be so rude but still, I must speck frankly, Mr Shankly |
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