Song Description

Football song about the decline of the pits in NE England

Lyrics

Geordie was a miner's son
Worked at the Rising Sun
Worked the shaft, opened up the gates
Every Saturday he'd swap places
Singing out the Blaydon Races
At St. James' Park with all his mates

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 bloody Sky