Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
I want to leave you will not miss me
I want to go down in musical history
Frankly, Mr Shankly, I'm a sickening wreck
I've got the 21st century breathing down my neck
I must move fast, you understand me
I want to go down in celluloid history Mr Shankly
Fame, fame, fatal fame
It can play hideous tricks on the brain
But still I rather be famous
Than righteous or holy, any day, any day, any day
But sometimes I'd feel more fulfilled
Making Christmas cards with the mentally ill
I want to live and I want to love
I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of
Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
Oh, I didn't realise that you wrote poetry
I didn't realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry Mr Shankly
Frankly, Mr Shankly, since you ask
You are a flatulent pain the arse
I do not mean to be so rude
But still, I must speak frankly, Mr Shankly, give us money
The Smiths - Frankly Mr. Shankly Lyrics
The Smiths - Frankly Mr. Shankly Lyrics
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Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
I want to leave you will not miss me
I want to go down in musical history
Frankly, Mr Shankly, I'm a sickening wreck
I've got the 21st century breathing down my neck
I must move fast, you understand me
I want to go down in celluloid history Mr Shankly
Fame, fame, fatal fame
It can play hideous tricks on the brain
But still I rather be famous
Than righteous or holy, any day, any day, any day
But sometimes I'd feel more fulfilled
Making Christmas cards with the mentally ill
I want to live and I want to love
I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of
Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
Oh, I didn't realise that you wrote poetry
I didn't realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry Mr Shankly
Frankly, Mr Shankly, since you ask
You are a flatulent pain the arse
I do not mean to be so rude
But still, I must speak frankly, Mr Shankly, give us money
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
I want to leave you will not miss me
I want to go down in musical history
Frankly, Mr Shankly, I'm a sickening wreck
I've got the 21st century breathing down my neck
I must move fast, you understand me
I want to go down in celluloid history Mr Shankly
Fame, fame, fatal fame
It can play hideous tricks on the brain
But still I rather be famous
Than righteous or holy, any day, any day, any day
But sometimes I'd feel more fulfilled
Making Christmas cards with the mentally ill
I want to live and I want to love
I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of
Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
Oh, I didn't realise that you wrote poetry
I didn't realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry Mr Shankly
Frankly, Mr Shankly, since you ask
You are a flatulent pain the arse
I do not mean to be so rude
But still, I must speak frankly, Mr Shankly, give us money
Writer: STEVEN MORRISSEY, JOHNNY MARR
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group
Performed By: The Smiths
From Album: The Queen Is Dead
Written by: STEVEN MORRISSEY, JOHNNY MARR
Year: 1986