Sniffer Clarke Chopper Harris The Doog Crazy Horse Norman Bite Yer Legs The Barnsley Spud Bonetti The Cat Alan Ball's White Alan Ball's White Alan Ball
Never good enough to win the race He was always asked to make the pace Speeding off then left behind To watch someone else win the golden mile Tired of
Away from work finding peace With a swing on the seventeenth lined with trees You're out playing golf for the day Hoping that with a bit of luck Someone
Sat with strawberries and cream Listening to all the players scream From right to left and left to right "The ball was in!" "No, it was out!" The money
At the beach, pressure's on Dad in trunks and vest Four years old, today's the day He gives me my big test Picking up a beach ball Red, green, yellow,
A quiet Sunday afternoon, away from town and work Scatter all the groundbait down, relax with rod and hook But as the worm he wriggles round he dreams
From Upton Park to the Baseball Ground From Old Trafford to Anfield Road It's the same old story if you're disabled Just token gestures, no real facilities
In the light of the ignorance and misplaced fear Of the panicked bosses of the Football League It isn't surprising that hugging and kissing Are banned
Whilst Robson plays his Sharp CD And Beardsley paints his lounge "hint of green" And the big clubs dream of a Superleague Of Keegan's "reasonable" three
Old, old limbs move slowly now Up and down stairs from bed to chair A balsa puppet struggles to remember Cheering crowds and famous victories That was
That Thompson and Cram both lost in Rome Was no surprise, when one thinks Of all the rubbish they consumed Those cereals and drinks Lured by big advertising
Where did the chinaman go? Where did the chinaman go? Bowled out of favor when the paceman move in As pitches got faster with no turn or spin "Bowl faster
When Grandstand's finished, and Sport On Two And there's nothing much left to do Too lazy to leave the armchair Can only manage to plug in the computer
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun Taking on the locals, every man jack of 'em Stupid, drunken, gobby toughs No excuse is good enough Arrogant
The bowler's running in, the batsman lights a fag He keeps a packet handy and it's lodged inside his pad Because it's written in his contract that after
From the deepest to the highest Battling for the yellow vest Changing gears rapidly Ten seconds to change a wheel King of the Mountains Queen of the flats
Like two gigantic Buddhas Someone carved from jelly Huge yet nimble Strong yet gentle They pace the sawdust circle No flicker of emotion Huge yet nimble
Frickley in South Yorkshire, a small mining town Where once the riot coppers beat the pickets to the ground Has a football team, and a stand full of fans