Leave a comment on verse 1 0
Why not go to Highbury, or maybe White Hart Lane
All we want is ten woodbines and a mac to keep out the rain
Their shorts reach down to the kneecap, brown leather up to the calf
Do you think they’ll play without shinguards in?, nobody’s that daft!
Leave a comment on verse 2 0
As the floodlights shone down upon rows of brylcreemed heads
It was ‘standing room only’ in days before the Ted’s!
It’s no go to a rattle, with its noise of clack, clack, clack
All we want is our tram fare and a ticket to the match
Leave a comment on verse 4 0
As Bastin, Ramsey, Hapgood return to fields of green
War is over. The working mans game is high in our esteem
It’s no go to Palestine, No go to the Suez Canal
All we want is Wembley and an FA Cup Final
Leave a comment on verse 5 0
As laced up balls of leather, that when sodden, felt like lead
Hit the net, no one forgets, The War, The Blitz, The Dead
But it helps to make it easier, to take the mind of things
As peace comes rolling down the road to shout, to cheer, to sing
Leave a comment on verse 7 0
As 60 or 70 thousand fans are in attendance at each game
Working class hero’s to a man, knew all their idols names
As rosettes, scarves and bobble hats, make each turnstile click
‘ Can the kids get in for nothing’? ‘Pass them over then, be quick’!
Leave a comment on verse 8 0
As glad rags replace sandbags, the atmosphere is electric
Goodbye to nights down the underground, such times, were so frenetic
As Saturday comes with expectancy, hope, despair, relax
This is it, the perfect fit, the all, the game, the match.