I recall a triffic atmosphere
Intense, surreal and funny?
But that atmosphere is no longer here
Now we’ve all come into money
Terrace wags who made you laugh
No matter what the score
But now we’ve got to win at all costs
Fings ain’t funny any more
Nostalgic days seem far away
When we queued in crowded streets
And the terraces were a heaving mass
Devoid of plastic seats?
Come back Frankie Blunstone
Come back Jimmy Greaves
Once bitten by the football bug
The passion never leaves
Me head is still there in the Shed
With me dreams and all me hopes
That one day we might win the cup
That we might just go for broke
As we watched the games of yesteryear
With our idols from the pub
Did we ever think, or ever fear
That our team weren’t good enough?
At least the boys were trying
In those far off halcyon days
When the atmosphere got you going, here (in yer heart)
As you watched yer idols play
Ain’t it funny how we hanker
For old stadiums and stars?
Not many modern fans will thank yer,
But fings were better then by far
When we stood in crowded ancient grounds
Fit to burst with hope and glee
Prayed to God that we could turn it round
Then home to Hovis for our tea!
We used to go to ‘the football’
We shouted, cheered and sang out loud
But now it’s kinda pitifull
In an atmosphere-less crowd!