Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, “The Champions of Europe!”, they all sing in Scouse.
Three trophies were placed in the cabinet with care, In hopes that the League soon would be there ...
Three trophies were placed in the cabinet with care, In hopes that the League soon would be there ...
The Kop Kids were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of Mane danced in their heads.
And Trent on corners and Divock on attack, Fucking Barca always knew the Reds would come back.
And Trent on corners and Divock on attack, Fucking Barca always knew the Reds would come back.
When out on the town there arose such a clatter, No signings this summer? Something was a matter.
Away to the Twitter our predictions got rash, Tore out our hair and thought the squad trash.
Away to the Twitter our predictions got rash, Tore out our hair and thought the squad trash.
But just as we thought all those months ago, Top of the League with a not a loss in tow.
We’re all just assholes that much is clear, But it’s funny as hell, how good we are this year.
We’re all just assholes that much is clear, But it’s funny as hell, how good we are this year.
With a squad so together, so lively and quick, Mentality monsters, it makes Pep sick.
A team in every sense, no one special star, They never seem to panic, even with fucking VAR.
A team in every sense, no one special star, They never seem to panic, even with fucking VAR.
Now Becker! Now Virgil, now Gini and Bobby! On Hendo! On Milner! On Robbo and Naby!
To the top of the League! To top top of the wall! Minamino! Fabinho! And Harvey on call!
To the top of the League! To top top of the wall! Minamino! Fabinho! And Harvey on call!
Klopp sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew full of pressing and hustle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight. “Happy Christmas the Reds. We’re boss, is right."
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight. “Happy Christmas the Reds. We’re boss, is right."
Happy Holidays you lovely bastards.
