For twenty years Graham Hill
Risking life and limb
Drove the circuits of the world
And they said it would kill him
“Going so fast is a fine way to win
But one crash could make a mockery of that famous cheeky grin”
As irony would have it
Years after he retired
The light aircraft he was piloting
Exploded, and he died

That Thompson and Cram both lost in Rome
Was no surprise, when one thinks
Of all the rubbish they consumed
Those cereals and drinks
Lured by big advertising deals
Force-fed crap at every meal
Stomachs full and wallets too
“Eat this son and you’re bound to lose”
Thompson and Cram now advertise
The same products with a different tack
“Lucozade Aids Defeat,” says one
And, “Start First And Finish Last”

Where did the chinaman go?
Where did the chinaman go?
Bowled out of favor when the paceman move in
As pitches got faster with no turn or spin
“Bowl faster, bowl at him, bowl bodyline
If we can’t get him out, we’ll make him retire!”
Where did the chinaman go?
Where did the chinaman go?
Where did the googly go?
Where did the googly go?
Who still bowls a googly in this day and age?
When bouncers and beamers are all the rage
Forced to take guard with helmet and visor
Awaiting the arrival of Slazenger armor
Where did the googly go?
Where did the googly go?
Bring back the chinaman
Bring back the googly
And long live Dicky Bird

Now he’s going for the grey ball
Into the top left pocket
A touch off the slightly darker grey ball
And he’s snookered behind the grey ball
Oh, he’s going for the grey ball
Now that’s a surprise
A kiss on the slightly lighter grey ball
Now just the grey ball to play
What a colorful game this is!
What a colorful game this is!
What a colorful game this is!
What a colorful game this is!
What a colorful game this is!
What a colorful game this is!

Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun
Taking on the locals, every man jack of ’em
Stupid, drunken, gobby toughs
No excuse is good enough
Arrogant, ignorant, insensibly pissed
When you’ve nothing to prove, you prove it with your fists
This is England’s chief export
Football hooligans–an embarrassment to the sport

Whilst Robson plays his Sharp CD
And Beardsley paints his lounge “hint of green”
And the big clubs dream of a Superleague
Of Keegan’s “reasonable” three thousand a week
But back at Sinthonia, the ground’s hardly packed
And the bank won’t give them an overdraft
So it’s play a full team of Y.T.S.
Or get sponsored by the D.H.S.S.
Oh no!
Oh yes!

Old, old limbs move slowly now
Up and down stairs from bed to chair
A balsa puppet struggles to remember
Cheering crowds and famous victories
That was a full life
Now dim in a half-light
Of newsreels and winner’s shields
Take care, move slowly now
There are precious few
Who still remember you

Sat with strawberries and cream
Listening to all the players scream
From right to left and left to right
“The ball was in!”
“No, it was out!”
The money goes up the fun has gone
There’s a thousand pounds on every point
And all the players bicker and shout
“The ball was in!”
“No, it was out!”
That’s not what tennis is all about
That’s not what the game is all about
Whether the ball was in or out
That’s not what tennis is all about
You cannot be serious!

A quiet Sunday afternoon, away from town and work
Scatter all the groundbait down, relax with rod and hook
But as the worm he wriggles round he dreams of just one wish
The angler would fall into the pond and get eaten by the fish

The wife she washes the football strip
The wife buys my sports socks and irons my kit
I lose a golf shoe, the wife looks for it
And that’s what I call teamwork
And that’s what I call teamwork
The wife she repairs my badminton shorts
The wife types up the team reports
The wife feeds the kids whilst I’m on the court
And that’s what I call teamwork
And that’s what I call teamwork
And that’s what I call teamwork