There he'd stand Every Saturday afternoon Rain pouring down that well worn face With a cigarette in his mouth Part of a tiny noisy crowd Hed watch his sons play the game he loved He would tell us lots of stories Of heroes and glories And the pride of the Wembley Wizards on Busby Babe His enthusiasm was infectious He bought us football boots for Christmas Our dad was a Scotsman and a plumber by trade I remember one time being three down at halftime So, we looked at dad for a plan to turn the tide Hе said, "Son we're not herе to have fun" That whinger's trying to welch me a muck Tackle him hard, and leave him face down in the mud
On the touchline On the touchline, our dad
A sturdy man of Caledonia and principles But of course, we all believed him to be invincible A father with a heart on the line But as time went by those old legs grew tired So we braced ourselves for the inevitable One sunny afternoon, the final whistle blew My two brothers and I took him to his grave As a long piper played that beautiful amazing grace Our touchline dad had died
Now the funeral wasnt sad, but a humorous affair Our dear old mom, God bless her Suffered memory loss She said to my sister, "Where on Earth is your father? " Sister Mary said, "Mom, he's at the front there in that box"
On the touchline, our dad On the touchline, our dad
Now it's my time on the side in the rain And watch my boys play the beautiful game And sometimes, sometimes I look up to the clouds and I say "Dad I hope you're looking down" 'Cause if it wasn't for you All this might not have been
On the touchline, our dad On the touchline, our dad
Compositores: Kevin Stuart James Savigar (ASCAP), Roderick David Stewart (ASCAP)Editor: Stewart Rod (ASCAP)Administração: EMI April Music Inc (ASCAP), Sony Music Publishing LLCPublicado em 2021 (12/Nov)ECAD verificado obra #31846734 e fonograma #30130270 em 15/Mai/2024 com dados da UBEM