[I Did It] Heighway

He was a brilliant player,
Though his moustache was very iffy.
The fullback had no prayer,
For he was round him in a jiffy.
Equally at home
Whether on a wet or dry day,
At Filbert Street or Rome,
‘Twas Stevie Heighway.

He lived out on the wing,
Up which he frequently would canter.
He made the Koppites sing,
And listened to their sarky banter.
Famed throughout the world,
In Torremolinos or in Taipei,
Where’er the red flag was unfurled,
‘Twas Stevie Heighway.

But when he was picked
To wear the green,
His neck was ricked,
He wasn’t keen,
He had a knock,
He was too tired,
He’d lost a sock,
Passport expired.
His record shows
The path he chose
That’s Stevie Heighway.