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| Smiths Queen Is Dead Frankly, Mr Shankly (2 19) 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 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 Mr Shankly Fame, fame, fatal fame it can play hideous tricks on the brain but still I rather be famous than righteous or holy, 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 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 bloody awful poetry Mr Shankly 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 speak frankly, Mr Shankly, give us money |
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