Howay the lads
Howay the lads,
Come on you magpies
Everybody sing along
Howay the lads,
Come on you magpies
Sing a Geordie song
A cannier lad you'd never find
I wouldn't say he was colour blind
And he always knew wrong from right
But when it came to Saturday
There were no shades of grey
Everything he saw was black and white
Then one day the news hit hard
They were gonna close the yard
He'd have to scrimp and scrape to pay his way
No more standing on the Leazes
Bottles of Brown doing what he pleases
He had to cut back live day to day
His season ticket got the cut
When the pit shaft finally shut
Same day as the stands were filled with seats
He wrote a note it said 'giz a job son'
Sent it off to Bobby Robson
But he finally had to admit defeat
So now on Saturday afternoon
Instead of heading off doon the toon
Geordie sits with a tear in his eye
for Geordie's new Saturday routine
is staring at the giant screen
and ya canna sing along with Murdoch's Sky