( As requested by Dave Bradley.)

 

 

And we'd jump out of bed, get dressed

And bounce down stairs for our toasted bread

 

And rush to church for 9.o'clock mass

And when it finished we'd race to the field of grass

 

And dive about connecting with headers in every position

And pretend we were Alex Young, The Golden Vision

 

And we'd get full of mud when it rained

And once my shirt was bloodstained

 

And it wasn't our Pete's fault that I headed his dome

And when it was dark we'd wander home

 

And brag about the goals we scored

And imagine the sound of the Roker roar

 

And our  Mum would scrub us in an old tin bath

And tell us jokes and make us laugh

 

And gives us butties of jam and bread

And we'd dunk  'em in our tea

And eat  'em in our beds

And fall asleep with Golden Vision still in our heads