Backroom banditos, crucifixion put off for the next ten minutes.
Jesus Gil emerges from the boardroom,
Visibly broken, sweat pouring down his face.
Or so you think.
Atletico must conquer the mighty Real stranglehold.
♪
Atletico must be ready to take over the mantle.
♪
Jesus Gil once said of his supporters "they're a bunch of layabouts
From the lower classes.
A member who doesn't have a drug addict in
The family will probably have a prostitute."
♪
Still regaining sixty percent of support from the supporters.
♪
Jesus Gil. Jesus Gil.
Scored the highest rankings. From his highest meddling with banking.
♪
Underhanded operations were his forte. Overhead wans too.
♪
He never hit the crossbar, he never hit the posts,
Straight in the goal.
The Bank of Spain is cancer (GOAL!) to Jesus Gil.
The Bank of Spain. Cancer.
He was a guy that put the supporters behind
Him and had the supporters with him all the way.
Horrible, sweaty, size-mobile.

Gargantuan guy that nobody liked. Atletico must get ahead of Real.

Jesus Gil.
Killed a lot of restaurateurs. Built the place himself,
♪
Did the architecture, didn't tell anybody.
Sixty eight killed, five years, two million pound fined.
♪
(GOAL!)
A pistol at the head of the echelons of football in Espana.
It cannot be a bad thing it could only be one
If those things that can be for good football.
Jesus Gil.
(RANT)
♪
Jesus Gil.
Jesus Gil.
♪
Corporate smoothy with a record as long as his arm.
(GOAL!)