It all went sort of pear-shaped
I thought it a bit of a joke
The day I found out, much to my dismay
That me football heroes smoked.
Our trainer had said “You’ll never run
Like The Little Bird (Garrincha) if you smoke”
It’s said Bobby Charlton loved to spark up one
So he sort of, gave us puffers hope.
Lev Yashin liked Sobranies
They didn’t do him no harm
Til Barry Davies spoiled the myth for me
Saying the great man had died destitute
And from cancer lost an arm.
The great Dutch sides had thrived on fags
We’re told, it’s there in the football annuals
Johaan Cryuff with his anxious half time drags
Johnny Rep with his pack of Camels.
In all them sepia pictures
Where the massive crowds touch the sky
There’s a haziness in the distance
Caused by Players, Weights and Woodbines.
Did Platini like a Gauliose
Does Henry prefer Gitanes
Would Zidane have had one on the glow
To ease pre match nerves in Spain?
Did Juste Fontaine draw on a Disque Bleu?
He could have, I dunno
And did they affect his prowess
Or sharpness near the goal?
Did Der Bomber like a Lucky Strike
Or Der Kaizer roll his own
Perhaps twenty tabs a day might help sort
Newcastle’s Michael Owen?
You never saw yer idol in the papers
With a coffin nail on the go
So why did those football trainers
Try to tell us, way back then,
That our heroes never smoked?