Leave a comment on verse 1 0
Prince of players, dark-haired Red Devil –
Ladies’ man, but none could compete with
The lure of a drink…He never won the Cup,
Never graced the World Cup; always on the
Edge, a pop idol who personified the era of
Style with a supreme confidence, when the
Ball was at his feet – Man about Town, with
Looks for the girls, and skills for the guys.
Leave a comment on verse 2 0
He blazed a trail for the maverick generation –
Stars all – but none shone brighter than Georgie.
Fifth Beatle, hot wheels, Miss Worlds – lived his
Life to the full; fame was a burden, and a boon.
It brought untold wealth to a lonely Belfast boy
Who held court every Majorcan summer, and
Found solace in the sauce when things got bad.
And there was always another bird on hand…
Leave a comment on verse 3 0
Sir Matt failed to tame him; a child of his time,
Of vodka and wine; when it got too much he
Ran for cover – Was it a tragedy, a waste ?
Well, the memories were sweet – of marvellous
moments on the Old Trafford stage, when life
stood still, and George did the biz. Even later,
A swansong at Fulham, and in L.A. – the flawed
Genius as self-parody, once the booze took over.
Leave a comment on verse 4 0
Jailbird, briefly – in stir at Christmas, how the
Tabloids delighted in his downfall; a shabby
Pathetic existence, culminating in ‘Wogan’, say
No more – but then, a revival – of sorts – playing
Gigs with Marsh and Greaves; tales of old days
Enacted for new audiences – plus the odd book,
Or two. And as he made his way off the big pitch,
We remembered the football – the Best thing of all.