Now that wingers have been laid to rest
And shirts have adverts across their breast
And it’s all about who’s the richest
Where are you now George?
With those boots that laced up the side
And that Irish shirt that you wore with pride
And that picture of you with Mike Summerbee and bride
Oh, where are you now George?
I dreamed of you dribbling past City’s back four
And leaving Joe Corrigan fumbling on the floor
And the Stretford End singing “More! Bestie! More!”
Where are you now George?
In a boutique down Carnaby Street?
Or gambling on the horses at an Aintree meet?
Oh where oh where are those magic feet?
I know where you’ve been
On Granada every week
I want you to come back to me
And have you seen George Oghani
And Charlie George?