General Discussion - Queen remix

Author

Queen remix

enforcer

2002-09-04, 7:12 am

) Roy Keane-ian Rhapsody (with apologies to the late, great Frddie Mercury and Queen!!) - Enjoy

> > >Mama, just kicked a man.
> > >There's a screw loose in my head,
> > >Because I tried to break his leg,
> > >
> > >Fergie, the seasons just begun,
> > >But now I've gone and thrown it all away!
> > >
> > >Forlan! Ooh -ooh - ooh,
> > >Makes me want to sigh!
> > >We'd score more goals with Sid James or Kenneth Williams,
> > >Carry On, Camping,
> > >The whole teams just in tatters.
> > >
> > >Too late, my crime is done,
> > >Tried to mangle Alfie's spine,
> > >Now he's aching all the time,
> > >
> > >Goodbye M1ck McCarthy, I've got to go,
> > >Got to leave the squad behind, 'cos I'm a t**t!
> > >
> > >Veron! Ooh -ooh - ooh
> > >He doesn't seem to try,
> > >I sometimes wish he'd never been bought at all.
> > >
> > >(guitar solo)
> > >
> > >(Opera Section)
> > >I see a little packaged sandwich filled with prawns,
> > >
> > >LAURENT BLANC! LAURENT BLANC!
> > >HE'S JUST SLOW, OLD AND USELESS!
> > >
> > >Brown & Neville fighting, very very frightening indeed!!!
> > >
> > >WHERE IS RIO ?,
> > >Where is Rio?,
> > >
> > >WHERE IS RIO?,
> > >Where is Rio?,
> > >
> > >Because Laurents far too slow! He's far too slow-ow-ow-ow-ow.....
> > >
> > >I'm just a head-case, nobody loves me!
> > >
> > >HE'S JUST A HEADCASE, WALKED OUT ON, HIS COUNTRY!
> > >
> > >SPARE US THE WHINES FROM HIS GAFFER IF YOU PLEASE!
> > >
> > >Here it comes, Open goal - Forlan must score.
> > >
> > >HE WILL NOT!
> > >
> > >No! He's simply got to score!
> > >
> > >HE WILL NOT, NEVER, EVER SCORE!
> > >
> > >No! He's simply got to score!
> > >
> > >HE WILL NOT, NEVER, EVER SCORE!
> > >
> > >NEVER, EVER SCORE, NEVER, EVER SCORE, NEVER, EVER SCORE.........
> > >
> > >NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!
> > >
> > >Oh where is Rio? where is Rio ?
> > >
> > >Has he really stubbed his toe ?
> > >
> > >Beelzebub take the Nevilles from my side, Oh Please ?
> > >
> > >Oh Please, Oh Pleeeeeeeaaaase?
> > >
> > >(Guitar riff)
> > >
> > >So you think that I punch refs and spit in their eyes?
> > >
> > >Would I kick Alan Shearer and leave him to die?
> > >
> > >Oh baby, Even though I seem crazy,
> > >
> > >I'm Roy the Red, rich, thick and madder each year.
> > >
> > >(Slow bit)
> > >
> > >All the guys I've clattered.....even poor Alfie!
> > >
> > >Now I've got a Court case...........I just want to kick folk, you see ?
> > >
> > >Tell me where did M1ck go ?

HOOLIGAN

2002-09-04, 1:08 pm

too funny,

the latest Roy Keane diary entry?
.........

It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago. All the family were over for the weekend. The night before, there’s a problem. Auntie Betty's postal order hasn't turned up. One of the paper hats is torn. We have to drink our Asti Spumanti out of plastic cups.

I go and see Auntie Betty, quietly, in the kitchen. She says that Uncle Mal was supposed to pop it in the postbox on his way to the shops last Tuesday. I say, "do you think Jimmy-Floyd Hasselbaink's waiting on a f*cking postal order the night before his f*cking birthday?" She tries to fob me off with a game of pass the parcel.

The game starts. The music keeps stopping and starting, Uneven, disorganised, just like musical chairs four years ago. I just laugh. But then I think, "where's the f*cking kids?" Theresa goes: "They're in bed Roy, it's nearly midnight. They're tired".

"We're all f*cking tired. It's the day before my birthday. Could they f*cking not have played pass the parcel?" I ask her.

I try to get something to eat. Uncle Ken's had all the mini Kievs. So I have to prepare for the biggest day of the year with just a packet of mini Cheddars and a sausage roll. Theresa had the power to put it right, she knows how to use the microwave, but she just stands there. I phone the gaffer on his mobile, and he agrees it's ridiculous.

Next morning, the postman finally arrives. Of course, the postal order isn't there. He apologies. Keep calm, Roy, I tell myself. Don't play into his hands. Right in front of the whole family, he says to check if it's not slipped under the mat.

"I'm very sorry, Mr Keane, I really am, but I still haven't got your postal order," he says. Goading. Humiliating me in front of everyone. I'm calm, but I'm starting to feel it. He mentions the time that I lost that postcard behind the fridge that cousin Sue sent from Malta. There's no way: anybody who knows me knows that I would never drop something down the back of the Zanussi.

He's dangled the carrot, and I've had a big wet bite.

I say to him: "Well, f*ck you then. You're a f*cking crap postman, you were a f*cking crap painter and decorator before that and you're a f*cking crap person. You can stick your postal order up your bollix. I have no respect for you at all."

I go and sit in the garden for a bit, then I go and see Nan and tell her that's it. I'm spending my birthday in the shed. He set me up, saying that it might be under the doormat, and I went for it. They've wanted me in the shed for years.

Of course, they're saying to me "Roy, this is your birthday. The biggest day of the year", but there's just no way I'm having anything to do with a postal service like this.

Nan tries to get me to stay, but my mind is made up. And I don't think you need to guess who it was that apologised to the postman: so-called nice guy Great Uncle Derek. Maybe I'll come out of the shed for my next birthday. But not if Uncle Mal's going to the postbox.

Sponsored Links