On the field of football, there's a player with hair so fine,
He's called a youngster, though not young, it's quite a crime,
His skills are poor, worse than McKennie's, it's true,
As slow as a turtle, as strong as Cinderella's shoe.
Instead of Serie A, he should be playing in Pasta C,
His beauty might deceive, but his football's plain to see,
He's got Italian flair, but that can't save his game,
It's time to face the truth, he's not fit for football fame.
Oh, how the fans do love him, but it's not for his play,
Perhaps his hair's the reason, or his charming Italian way,
But on the pitch, he's lacking, and it's time to say goodbye,
To this not-so-young "youngster", who couldn't touch the sky.