Right, sorry, bare with me. I'm not happy, and you're no doubt still in a foul mood too. Perhaps we can all sing-a-long in unison to this weeks little (expletive filled) ditty I've penned.

Yesterday's game wasn't pretty, and frustrations lie at the door of one man...

F*CK you Steve Bruce, and your fu*cking tactics,
F*CK you Steve Bruce, we lost to the f*cking Lactics.
F*CK you Steve Bruce, we're a club in decline,
F*CK you Steve Bruce, we've got a mountain to climb.

F*CK you Steve Bruce, we don't expect all that much,
F*CK you Steve Bruce, how about a win and such?
F*CK you Steve Bruce, I'm getting f*cking sick,
F*CK you Steve Bruce, and the team that you pick.

F*CK you Steve Bruce, I'm f*cking fed up of you,
F*CK you, Steve Bruce, you're team is utter poo.
F*CK you, Steve Bruce, you f*cking talentless twit,
F*CK you Steve Bruce, I don't like you, not one little bit.

F*CK you Steve Bruce, I'm going to wrap this up soon,
F*CK you Steve Bruce, with your wins on a full moon.
F*CK you Steve Bruce, with wins less than Steve Kean,
F*CK you Steve Bruce, and yes I know I've been mean.

F*CK you Steve Bruce, I'm sorry for being rude,
F*CK you Steve Bruce, I'm sorry my language is crude.
F*CK you Steve Bruce, I withdraw my f*cking truce,
F*CK you, Steve Bruce, F*CK you Steve Bruce.