Destination, Roker Park,
Sunderland fans thought we were dopey,
We'd no chance in the Sherpa Trophy.
Off they kicked, mid roars and bellow,
They wore stripes and we wore yellow,
Sunderland fans began to moan,
Why, we're supposed to be at home.
Roker legs seemed tired by shackles,
(Nowt to do with Tinkler's tackles!)
The swirling wind's the only master,
(Our wind's fitter, runs much faster)
With the wind behind our tails,
Just like Lester on the rails,
Up comes little 'Jackie' Honour,
Waves to fans whilst taking t'corner.
Drives the ball into the gale,
'Keeper dives to no avail,
Still a chance to clear it yet,
Surprise, surprise, it's in the net.
"It was the wind" moans Roker Roar,
But Jackie's done it all before,
Celebrations in the showers,
Dreaming of those Wembley towers.
Poor Sunderland are now a goner,
Let's raise a glass to Brain Honour.