Frank Spurnatra

I've done this before. Considering the repetition in this summers transfer window, there is no harm revising it a little to synch in with how I'm feeling presently whilst the media coverage surrounding Spurs continues to regurgitate transfer nonsense without remorse.

To the tune of the epic My Way (original lyrics by Paul Anka, sang definitively by Ol' Blue Eyes) but on this occasion sang by you whilst reading this blog.


Online, a club insider talks;
And so we face the transfer window.
N17, written on bedsheets:
We must keep Spurs in North of London.

We chant and the cockerel crows
We've travelled up and down the country.        
Marched in, whilst our fingers danced,
Come on you Lilywhites...

Luka? Gone broke my heart,
But then again, so did Dimi.
I did what I had to do
I smoked crack to release the tension.

An effigy I hanged and burnt -
Each expletive spat at Sky Sports reporters.
And Harry, you talk too much
Come on you Lilywhites...

Yes, there were games, I shook my head.
We lost to West Ham, I beckoned my death.
And through it all, when there was Crouch,
I pulled my hair, I punched the ground.
I kicked my gran and she blacked out
Come on you Lilywhites...

I've cried, I've bitched and moaned,
I've had enough - we need a forward.
There's JD, once more offside,
I still find our tactics highly confusing.

To think Levy holds the key,
And may I say, his head is shiny -
Oh please, please spend the cash,
Come on you Lilywhites...

For what is a yid? What has he got?
If not his swagger - he'll lose the plot.  
Just sign that forward we truly need
No more hoofed balls over the midfield.
OptaJoe shows we can't score the goals...

Come on you Lilywhites...

Yes, we are the Lilywhites...