“So, Greavsie, well, what about the black lads gettin’ bananas thrown at em?”
“Well, it seems a bit unfortunate, I mean, uh, uh”
Sitting on the bench, he starts another drink
Drowning his sorrows watching Geoff Hurst’s hat-trick
The pressures of success led him to the bottle
Now famous for his drinking, when once it was his football
Now a TV personality, I see him every week
If only he was as clever with his mouth
As he was with his feet
“The songs about critical, what you think about that”
“I’m not saying, I mean, it seems a bit unfair on me, I mean I’ve only had me breakfast”
“Ah ha ha, you’ll be the death of my, Greavsie”

Na then!
Get another drink!
And get yourself sat down
We’ll have a game of shave ha’penny
And loser gets next round
Get another drink!
And get your arrows out
We’ll have a game of 501
And mine’s a pint of stout
So get another drink!
And you’ve got two shots
And now I can’t remember
Who’s the stripes and who’s the spots
So get another drink!
I can’t make it the bar
Too much sport you understand
And too much beer
I’ll Sithi!

The ancient sport of face-jumping
Involved a skill unknown
A jump onto a partner’s face
With ne’er a crack of bone
Tom McSmee, a champion,
In several tests of skill
Could jump into a barrel of eggs
And never crack a shell
This sport was later outlawed
Permits were refused
When competitors took to wearing
Modern spikes upon their shoes
Did I get that right, boy, or not?

Let’s face it lads, you’re really crap!
But you’re exciting to watch, I’ll give you that
Not for a wage, not for fame
Not for directors
For the love of the game
You chicken out
You fluff the shot
You fall and shout
And foul a lot
Let’s face it lads, you’re really crap!
But you’re exciting to watch, I’ll give you that

Compass, whistle, cagoul, map
Count your steps along the track
To checkpoint one
Checkpoint two
Checkpoint three and back
Compass bearing sou-sou-west
Choose the route you think is best
Judging distance, pace and line
Head and feet to cut the time
To checkpoint one
Checkpoint two
Checkpoint three and back
Checkpoint one
Checkpoint two
Checkpoint three and back

Gooch, you’re scum, it’s as simple as that
Defending white oppression, battling for Apartheid
Blinded by the Krugerands
Ignoring all the shanty towns
The fascist, racist governments
The beatings, the internments
And Botha bowls a full toss and Gooch hits a boundary
Still padding up and batting for the biggest white lie

The bowler’s running in, the batsman lights a fag
He keeps a packet handy and it’s lodged inside his pad
Because it’s written in his contract that after every over
He has to have a smoke just to satisfy the sponsor
In a bid to save the sport he sacrifices his health
His inning is getting shorter and so is his breath
Seems the price of survival involves a cigarette
Making money out of sport and choking it to death

From the deepest to the highest
Battling for the yellow vest
Changing gears rapidly
Ten seconds to change a wheel
King of the Mountains
Queen of the flats
Sprinting for the line
Then ready to collapse
Up! Up! Up!
The simplicity of the wheel
Has created the bike
On which you don’t need to win
To make it fun
So don’t get knackered
Take it slow
Don’t worry about the vest
Just enjoy the view

Like two gigantic Buddhas
Someone carved from jelly
Huge yet nimble
Strong yet gentle
They pace the sawdust circle
No flicker of emotion
Huge yet nimble
Strong yet gentle
Years of dedication
Mental preparation
Huge yet nimble
Strong yet gentle
Two gigantic Buddhas
Someone carved from jelly
Huge yet nimble
Strong yet gentle
Two blancmange mountains
On a plate of sand

Frickley in South Yorkshire, a small mining town
Where once the riot coppers beat the pickets to the ground
Has a football team, and a stand full of fans
Who love their game and who love revenge
If a cop comes near the ground
On a Saturday afternoon
He’ll be heading the bricks
Until he’s over the moon