Streets of the Boro
¶ 1
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We were Peacock and Gibson, Yeoman and Kay
And Albert Park finals would last through the day
Til the Parky could be dodged no more
We’d restart near The Broadway and dispute the score
¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 And the stumblers would sing us a song
¶ 3
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If we thought we were good we were shown to be wrong
By the lad always first to be called
The star who did tricks with a ball
The kid who could make you look small
¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Til his mam said he’d been out too long
¶ 5
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From back alley Wembleys we’d run in disgrace
Hoping the woman in slippers can’t keep up the pace
As her freshly washed dirty sheets slap at our face
We’d escape to the safety of market stalls
And pick little Bob to go back for the ball
¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 He’d blame the big lads when she answered the doorbell’s ding-dong
¶ 7
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We come from the streets with the chimneys that smoked
Where the goal posts were moved as the wind took our coats
And the Priests were as big as the iron works blokes
Who moved in the shadows of tall foundry walls
¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 This ring of iron is where we belong
20
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