Can I tell you the story of a poor boy, who was sent far away from his home,
To fight for his king and his country, and also the old folks back home,
Now they put him in a highland division, sent him off to a far foreign land,
Where the flies flew around in their thousands, and there was nothing to see but the sand.
Now the battle it started next morning, underneath the old lybian sun,
I remember the Poor Scouser Tommy, who was shot by an old Nazi gun.
As he lay on the battlefield dying (dying-dying), with the blood gushing out of his head,
As he lay on the battlefield dying (dying-dying), These were the last words that he said…
OOOH, I am a Liverpudlian,
And I come from the Spion Kop,
I love to sing,
I love to shout,
I get kicked out quite a lot!
We support a team that's dressed in red, it’s a team that you all know,
It’s a team that we call Liverpool, and to glory we will go!
We won the league,
We won the Cup,
We’ve been to Europe too,
We played the Toffee’s for a laugh, and left them feeling blue! 5-0