Robbo's Christmas Carols

Ho-ho-ho!

No, it’s not 50 cent describing some ladeez on his latest vidjo, it's Father Christmas Robbo-style. I’ve got me Yuletide head on and I’m wishing you all a very merry sherry-filled Christmas.

In between sticking a fork into an underdone turkey, performing the Heimlich manoeuvre on whichever of me young relations has choked on the 10p coin from the Christmas pudding, rushing out for last minute M&S gift tokens and playing ref to a couple of warring piss-headed uncles, I’ve cobbled together a festive blog.

This year, carols to suit all clubs!

ARSENAL

At the Emirates we have a sweet rendition of:

Silent Night, Holy Night,
Pass and move, get it right,
Everything is not quite what it seems
Try not to think of the Theatre of Dreams
Robin Van Persie is fi-it!
Robin van Persie is fit.


ASTON VILLA (to the tune of 'O Little Town of Bethlehem')

O little town of Birmingham
Take back our manager
His jowly face
A puce disgrace
He's worse than Houlli-er
We may have lots of po-oh-te-eh-eh-ential
But still we lag behind
Goodbye McLeish
You piece of peesh
Hurray the plank’s resigned!


BLACKBURN ROVERS

We Two Kings of Orient Are
Selling chucks from the back of a car
Fucking over
Blackburn Rovers
Doing it from afar, O oh.....


BOLTON WANDERERS (To the tune of 'Stop the Cavalry')

Hey Mr Gartside comes over here to say we’re doing splendidly
Owen’s positive, we are scared stiff, cos we're lying in the bottom three
Gartside’s hanging tough, Cahill’s had enough,
He’s buggered off to Chelsea.


CHELSEA (To the tune of Slade's 'Merry Christmas')

So here it is Terry Christmas
Everybody’s staying mum
Yes he’s the skipper but
That don’t mean he’s not scu-uh-ummmm!


EVERTON (to the tune of 'Good King Wenceslas')

Good King David Moyes looked out
On the Feast of Stephen
Asked Bill Kenwright ‘is it true
We are breaking even?’
‘There’s no chance of that’ said Bill
‘We are flaming brassic.’
‘Please don’t sell that Jack Rodwell.’
‘We have, mate!’
‘That’s just classic!’


FULHAM (to the tune of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen')

God rest you merry cottagers, let nothing you dismay
Remember that you hardly ever win when you’re away
You’re getting poorer and Zamora doesn’t want to stay
No-oh tidings of Comfort and Jol, Comfort and Jol
No-oh tidings of Comfort and Jol.


LIVERPOOL (to the tune of 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing')

Hark a Horrid Racist Sings
But not to Kenny the King
T-shirts on, an act of hubris
We all love to back our Luis
So he might have said a word
It’s not one we’ve never heard
Sepp Blatter would just shake hands
Not just give out eight-week bans
Hark the Horrid Racist Sings
But we didn’t Hear a Goddam thing.


MAN CITY (to the tune of 'Away in a Manger')

Away from Manchester
No penny is spared
To bring to the city
Some new millionaire
In all of their pockets
The finances stench
Not enough for the Gaucho
Who sits on the bench.

The Poznan is jumping
They score when they like
The boss smiles so happy
(Looks a bit like a dike?)
The league title beckons
It’ll be on the shelf
If young Balotelli
Doesn’t blow up himself.


MAN UTD (to the tune of 'Deck the Halls')

Of all coaches Fergie’s cleverer
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Not as smart as Patrice Evra
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

It will be so very pleasin’
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
If they win fuck-all this season
Fa la la la la, la la la la.


NEWCASTLE UTD (to the the tune of 'Winter Wonderland')

Mike Ashley is gettin’ meaner
At the Sports Direct Arena
All that they can pretend
At the Gallowgate End
Is that they end higher than Sunderland.


NORWICH CITY (To the tune of 'Ding Dong Merrily on High')

Ding dong we are flying high
The tractor boys are crappy
Ding dong we have lovely pie
Canaries all are happy
Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelia in excelsis.


QPR (To the tune of 'The Holly and the Ivy')

The Joey and the Warnock
When they have had their moan
The Warnock gets on the pundit’s coach
But the Barton tweets alone.


STOKE CITY (to the tune of 'The First Nowell')

The first go-al
It came from a throw
Hurled up from our Rory
It came down with snow
Shawcross or The Crouch
Kenwynne or the Huth
One of them’s going get it
And that is the truth

O Hell, O hell, O hell, O hell,
Stoke City do love a set piece Go-al.


SUNDERLAND (To the tune of 'I Saw Three Ships')

I saw two shits come flailing by
On Sat-day night, on Sat-day night!
They trashed a car and then took flight
On Sat-day night Sunday morning

The policemen took em to the cell
On Sat-day night on Sat-day night
Titus Bramble was there as well
On Sat-day night Sunday morning.


SWANSEA CITY (to the tune of 'Once in Royal David's City')

Once in Royal St. David’s City
Cardiff reached the play-off stage
Still they couldn’t win the big one
Dave Jones got the sack in rage.
Saw some Swans go floating by
Felt a tear come from his eye

No one knows who plays for Swansea
Apart from that Scott Sinclair
Bluebirds fans just sit and simmer
Disbelieving that they’re there
Soon they think they’ll take that crown
Cos the Swans will come straight back down


TOTTENHAM (Or rather Yuletide with 'Arry, to the tune of Nat King Cole's 'Merry Christmas')

My nuts roasting on an open fire
Taxman rifling through my clothes
Though I’ve heard it said, many times, many ways,
Harry’s Christmas, subject closed.

I’ll just settle watching Gareth Bale
Flames just flicking off his toes
And I’ll hope that whatever the courtroom decides
I’ll be free when Capello goes.


WEST BROM (to the tune of 'The Sussex Carol')

On Hodgson's watch all Baggies sing
To see Odemwingie on the wing
Sometimes he's soft as Christmas pud
but sometimes he is weally good.


WOLVES (To the tune of 'In the Bleak Midwinter')

In the bleak midwinter
Mick will slowly freeze
As another ref turns
Down two penalties

The first one was nailed-on
The second one stonewall
Mick just throws his head back
How he hates football.


WIGAN (To the tune of 'While Shepherds Watch')

While others watch their box at night
Martinez trawls the earth
To find an obscure midfielder
That might just prove his worth

And though they may be playing to
A crowd of twenty-five
Roberto fills his men with cheer
And keeps the dream alive.