breakfast at murrayfield

(apologies in advance.)

To the tune of Roses in the hospital by Manic Street Preachers (yes, there’s been a time when James Dean Bradfield was thin, and I can actually remember that. I’m decrepit.):

Mossy in the hospital
Try to beat foot infection out
Mossy in the hospital
He wants to grasp an oval ball
Mossy in the hospital
Progressing like a constant war [didn't change this line, fits perfectly in my version]
Mossy in the hospital
There’s no one to kick conversions

All we wanted was a home win
But Phil Godman just can’t nail them in
Like a doom over Murrayfield
it’s the right foot — yep, the one that kicks
We don’t want that feckin’ drip!

Mossy in the hospital… [etc]

Have been singing this all afternoon.

Meh.