You came to Leicester,
a silver fox to our pack,
the grey Tinker Man,
whom we’ve now sacked:
Claudio! Claudio!
You got me to strip
down to my shorts
– my crispiest bits.
To get me there
you proved me wrong,
you took my team,
at five thousand to one,
up to the top
of the Premiership,
but then you got dumped
for tinkering with it.
Alas you are gone,
no more punditry pokes,
I’ll live with the title,
and ignore Shearer’s jokes.
My pants are pressed,
my abs are tight,
I am now ready for
the relegation fight.