Denis Law
I live at 14 Stanhope Street,
Me mum, me dad and me,
And three of us have made a gang,
John Stokes and Trev and me.
Our favourite day is Saturday;
We go Old Trafford way
And wear red colours in our coats
To watch United play.
We always stand behind the goal
In the middle of the roar.
The others come to see the game -
I come for Denis Law.
His red sleeves flap around his wrists,
He’s built all thin and raw,
But the toughest backs don’t stand a chance
When the balls near Dennis Law.
He’s a whiplash when he’s in control,
He can swivel like an eel,
And twist and sprint in such a way
It makes defences reel.
And when he’s hurtling for the goal
I know he’s got to score.
Defences may stop normal men -
They can’t stop Denis Law.
We all race home when full time blows
To kick a tennis ball,
And Trafford Park is our back-yard,
And the stand is next door’s wall.
Old Stokesey shouts,
“I’m Jimmy Greaves,”
And scores against the door,
And Trev shouts: “I’ll be Charlton,” -
But I am Denis Law.
Gareth Owen