We sat and decided as the seasons collided
That our love was fairly utopian
If it wasn’t for my pills, my psychiatric bills
And your unreliable fallopian
Then I guessed we’d be fine, embraced on cloud nine
Emotionally impossible to sever
And you’d turn around quickly and ever so sickly
I’d tell you I’d love you forever

If only you’d give me my Lev Yashin poster back
Six months ago I returned your brown anorak
But you keep forgetting and it’s far too upsetting
So baby Ferenc Puskas to you, to you
Baby Ferenc Puskas to you

And you know it’s a shame but we were never the same
On account of your stupid amnesia
Through teardrops I stare at the wall that’s now bare
And I reach for the Milk of Magnesia
And I’ll die on the floor and leave a note on the door
Saying ‘This ape has just left Gibraltar’
And in hell it will rain and I’ll say once again
That I’d stand next to you at the altar

If only you’d give me my Lev Yashin poster back
Six months ago I returned your brown anorak
But you keep forgetting and it’s far too upsetting
So baby Ferenc Puskas to you, to you
Baby Ferenc Puskas to you
With boots on

Bert Trautmann lived round here. Yeah, lived down the road in St Helens, he was a prisoner of war man, wasn’t he? Didn’t he break his neck? Yeah, he had a crew-cut. Great man, great man. What about George Farm? Oh, Blackpool? Yeah, he was great. ‘The Cat’. The Tangerine wizard… The Jesus Christ of Bloomfield Road… …Stanley Mortensen!

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