(To the tune of 'The Sounds of Silence') Relegation, my old friend I've come to meet with you again Because the manager must be sleeping It leaves the faithful mackem fans weeping And the vision, that was planted in his brain Still remains Sess is not a striker In woeful games he's walked alone ****, when he meets Tom Huddlestone Neath the glare of a bright pitch lamp To score he'll need a ****ing ramp Brucie's eyes were stabbed by the flash of Darren Bent But now he's went Sessegnon's not a striker And in the Stadium of Light I saw, Ten thousand people, hardly more People watching without cheering People eating without thinking People thinking '****, we're really going down' But Brucie stilll Thinks Sessegnon's a striker Fool, said I, you do not know, Wickham cost 8 mil, you know He's built like a ****ing brick ****house He might score some goals if you had the nouse To play him before the last ten minutes of the game And Sess is not a striker And the mackems bowed and prayed To God, that our club may be saved And the signs were flashing out warnings Bramble was way too ****ing horny And then Short said, 'stick with Bruce, he has experience at this level, the Mag devil' Bruce said, 'Sess is.... A striker.'
