Luis, Luis your teeth so sharp
Your burning hatred of men so dark
You handball, you cheat, you rake your studs,
At the slightest contact you roll in the mud,
You played the victim, they're all against you,
The press, the FA, them bitter blues,
Those t-shirts at Wigan, how could we forget,
Or at Mansfield, you had to punch the ball in the net,
No red cards to your name, but not to fear,
If refs had seen them you'd have been banned for a year,
On international duty, a good chance to hide,
Instead you punched Jara you cheap little snide,
The FA, their bans were always unjust
10 matches, 8 matches, your studs start to rust,
A conspiracy against you, you bore the brunt,
So farewell young Luis, you vile little [Poor language removed].