Touchline Rod Stewart

[Verse 1]
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
He’d 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 and Busby Babes
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 to 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

[Refrain]
On the touchline
On the touchline, our dad

[Verse 2]
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