Football Poets

THISTLE PALACE

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 It was just over thirty years ago,
that most players at Palace were nicknamed Jock,
as Bert Head he scoured for talent,
around Glasgow and Greenock.

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 He argued that up in Scotland,
he’d acquire fine talent cheaper,
but thankfully he had the sense,
not to sign a Scottish keeper.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Many a freezing night was spent,
watching the likes of Third Lanark,
hoping to find a prospect,
to bring to Selhurst Park.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 We got John Loughlan in at left back,
Tony Taylor on the wing,
and our brilliant center forward,
who had the opposite name to king.

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 His name was Gerry Queen,
a headline writers dream,
as ‘ Queen the King of the Palace,’
the morning rags would scream.

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 The fans they sang, “he was faster than lightening,
no one could be faster than he,”
the tune would pour out of the Holmesdale,
taken from ‘ Flipper ‘ the show on T.V.

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 John McCormick the Scot made from granite,
his heart worn on the sleeve of his shirt,
forwards would try and provoke him,
but it was they —- who ended up hurt.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 They said Roger Hynd came from girders,
a tougher player— no where would you find,
he perfected the two footed tackle,
no one messed with big Roger Hynd.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Iain Phillip, Jim Scott, and Jim Cannon,
all part of the Thistle Brigade,
and Charlie Cooke, was signed up from Chelsea,
though his great skills were starting to fade.

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 Then Bert took the train up to Glasgow,
and came back with some breathtaking news,
he’d signed two of the Timmolloy Euro Bhoys,
wee Willie Wallace and big Johnny Hughes.

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 John Hughes was nicknamed ‘ Big Yogi,’
and the crowd always roared “Feed the Bear,”
he’d steamroller defenders out of his way,
as down each of the wings he would tear.

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 Alas old Bert Head got the heave-ho,
and the tartan army soon disappeared,
but in the hearts and minds of loyal Palace fans,
all of them are still revered.

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 Malcolm Allison wasn’t impressed,
that some of these players had won us promotion,
he was off on his own scouting trips,
with his mistress and suntanning lotion.

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 And from playing in the elite First division,
we ended up down in the Third,
and no more at our ground up at Selhurst,
were the Highlanders and Lowlanders heard.

¶ 15 Leave a comment on verse 15 0 Most returned up north of the border,
to finally end their careers,
and like many a player of that era,
they became publicans serving up beers.

¶ 16 Leave a comment on verse 16 0 Nows many a night up in Scotland,
when a publican’s ready to close,
he’ll start to feel a bit sentimental,
and keep in the punters he knows.

¶ 17 Leave a comment on verse 17 0 He’ll pour himself a large glass of whiskey,
and let his mind go a wandering back,
and he’ll reminisce to the after hours customers,
about his days in the Palace attack.

¶ 18 Leave a comment on verse 18 0 He’ll tell of his goals v United,
and how Bert signed him up from East Fife,
and the discos and clubs of South London,
where he had the best times of his life.

¶ 19 Leave a comment on verse 19 0 And while a tear rolls down his craggy cheek,
as he drifts back thirty years,
he wishes he was back at the Palace,
not in Lanarkshire serving up beers.

¶ 20 Leave a comment on verse 20 0 And when he finally closes up,
and the final customers do depart,
he’ll put his head down on his pillow,
and dream of his days at old Selhurst Park.