When I was young and fairly bored,
I’d go out on my bike,
And cycle down the country lanes
To anywhere I’d like.
And as I’d ride on down the hills,
My left leg dangling freely,
I’d kick the dandelion heads
While trying to do a wheelie.
It was a game requiring skill,
And timing was essential.
The flick had to be sharp and crisp,
For to be providential.
The foot had got to strike the head,
Right where it met the stem.
Higher up or lower down
Just didn’t work on them.
And as I spread those yellow heads,
Throughout this fertile nation,
I revelled in my role of
As hobbies went, I always found it
It wasn’t really football though,
‘Twas more footdandelion.