Let me 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

So they put him in a Highland division

Sent him off to a far foreign land

Where the flies swarm around in their thousands

And there’s nothing to see but the sands

In a battle that started next morning

Under an Arabian sun

I remember that poor Scouser Tommy

Who was shot by an old Nazi gun

As he lay on the battle field dying dying dying

With the blood gushing out of his head (of his head)

As he lay on the battle field dying dying dying

These were the last words he said…

Oh… I am a Liverpudlian

I come from the Spion Kop

I like to sing, I like to shout

I go there quite a lot (every week)

We support the team that’s dressed in Red

A team that we all know

A team that we call Liverpool

And to glory we will go

We’ve won the League, we’ve won the Cup

We’ve been to Europe too

We played the Toffees for a laugh

And we left them feeling blue — Five Nil!

One nil,

Two nil,

Three nil,

Four nil,

Five nil!