On streets awash with blue and white shirts
We relived every high
Bone crunching tackles primed to hurt
When men would seldom cry.
Where magic sponge and water
Put those downed upright at once
Who on returning to the slaughter
Sought retribution with a punch.
We laughed as Norman Hunter
Was chinned by Francis Lee
It seemed to me that every Londoner
Loathed Don Revie’s Leeds.
Jack Charlton had his black book
With the names of those who’d sinned
With rabbit punch, a sly left hook
Or kick aimed at Big Jack’s shins.
Peter Lorimer and his rocket shot
Norman Hunter bit yer legs
Billy Bremner and his carrot top
Johnny Giles? Tis best unsaid.
Paul Madeley stood immense like
Terry Cooper ran all day
Mick Jones looked like he’d been in a fight
Allan Clarke had much to say.
Big Paul Reaney took no prisoners
Eddie Gray could seemingly dance on ice
Till Chopper Harris did his mischief
Which stood there watching wasn’t nice.
Gary Sprake Achilles like
Would glumly guard their net
In big games apt to lose ball’s flight
To seem a ditherer and inept.
Those mighty full on games with Leeds
With huge crowds guaranteed to come
Were the battles fans queued for hours to see?
On seemingly dark and dank grey streets
When totally up for it and young!