They call him Transport Tony,

Drives the lads to County ground,

With a flask of tea and a pasty roll,

He knows the backroads round.

 

He’s not on the team sheet,

But he’s there rain, sleet or sun,

Got more cheers from the County crowd

Than the striker ever won.

 

Misheard his name in the terraces,

Thought he was centre-back,

But Tony just honked the minibus horn

And gave the lino flak.