[00:00.000] 作词 : Johnny Marr/Morrissey
[00:01.000] 作曲 : Johnny Marr/Morrissey
[00:08.664]Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held
[00:12.968]It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
[00:16.377]I want to leave you will not miss me
[00:20.617]I want to go down in musical history
[00:28.145]Frankly, Mr Shankly, I'm a sickening wreck
[00:32.240]I've got the 21st century breathing down my neck
[00:35.977]I must move fast, you understand me
[00:40.256]I want to go down in celluloid history Mr Shankly
[01:04.784]Fame, fame, fatal fame
[01:08.176]It can play hideous tricks on the brain
[01:12.759]But still I rather be famous
[01:15.176]Than righteous or holy, any day, any day, any day
[01:23.768]But sometimes I'd feel more fulfilled
[01:27.680]Making Christmas cards with the mentally ill
[01:31.569]I want to live and I want to love
[01:36.144]I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of
[01:44.160]Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held
[01:47.744]It pays my way but it corrodes my soul
[01:52.250]Oh, I didn't realise that you wrote poetry
[01:55.856]I didn't realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry
[02:03.222]Frankly, Mr Shankly, since you ask
[02:06.791]You are a flatulent pain the arse
[02:11.950]I do not mean to be so rude
[02:16.139]But still, I must speak frankly, Mr Shankly, give us your money

作词 : Johnny Marr/Morrissey
作曲 : Johnny Marr/Morrissey
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 but it corrodes my soul
Oh, I didn't realise that you wrote poetry
I didn't realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry
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 your money