The The disc brakes drag
the chequered flag sweeps
across the oil-slick track
The young man's home
dry as a bone. His helmet off
he waves the crowd waves back
One lap victory roll
Gladiator soul
The taker of the day
in winning has to say
Isn't it grand to be playing
to the stand dead or alive
Isn't it grand to be playing
to the stand dead or alive
The sunlight streaks
through the curtain cracks
touches the old man
where he sleeps
The nurse brings up
a cup of tea two biscuits
and the morning paper mystery
The hard road's end
the white god's-send
is nearer everyday
in dying the old man says
Isn't it grand to be playing
to the stand, dead or alive
Isn't it grand to be playing
to the stand, dead or alive
<Interlude>
The still-born child
can't feel the rain
as the chequered flag
falls once again
The deaf composer completes
his final score
He'll never hear
the sweet encore
The chequered flag
the bull's red rag
the lemming-hearted hordes
running ever faster
to the shore singing
Isn't it grand to be playing
to the stand, dead or alive
Isn't it grand to be playing
to the stand, dead or alive
Isn't it grand to be playing
to the stand, dead or alive
Isn't it grand to be playing
to the stand, dead or alive
cked down
and they put you first in line
And so you finally ask yourself
just how big you are
and take your place in a wiser
world of bigger motor cars
<Intelrude>
So Where the hell was Biggles
when you needed him
last Saturday
And where were all the sportsmen
who always pulled you though
They're all resting down
in Cornwall
writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual
See there! A man born