In the Dark Streets of Belfast

One day in the dark streets of Belfast, A young man was born too soon, For had he been born today boys, This game would know no gloom For he stood only 5 feet 8 inches, He weighed only 8 stone, By day he played with his friends there, By night he played on his own. Then early one morning a letter, Arrived in the post at his home, Will your son please board the ferry, From Ireland to England alone So a young man arrived at Old Trafford Prepared to give his all, But England’s a long way from Belfast, And the Emerald Isles did call It took all of Matt Busby’s persuasion, To make him come back for the test, For he knew that he’d found a genius, Who was so far ahead of the rest He could run at the speed of a greyhound, Turn on a sixpence and shoot, Dribble his way through a minefield, While still only wearing one boot His playing brought crowds by their thousands, His antics attack from the press, But they still had to bow down in tribute, And acknowledge true genius George Best So break open a bottle of bubbly, and look back not with sadness but joy, Raise a glass to the Genius Georgie Farewell to the Belfast Boy.