(He's Got) Nobby Style

The wide boy’s on the right side again. Playing straight down the middle, never in defence or attacking. He stands tall with his eyes on the ball, grinning. It’s not the taking part that counts – it’s winning. Oh he feels like Nobby Stiles, scoring with toothless smiles. He doesn’t need lies or alibis - he’s on top of the world looking down on you. See him standing in the corner waving his white flag. He’ll make her take the penalty if she starts playing bad. Right now she’s dealing with his tackle, and he’s outside his box. He dribbles, he scores, he’s so cocksure - he knocks her into touch. Oh he feels like Nobby Stiles, scoring with toothless smiles. He doesn’t need much, just his magic touch - he’s on top of his game - going down on you. Oh he’s got nobby style. So it might be quite a while ‘till he faces up to his denial - and his wife and his kid, and the things that he did. Playing the field like it is a championship. He’s the first in his league and the first to get out of his kit. This stud is loose and much too big for his boots, and his name may be mud - but there’s always extra time when someone blows his whistle and there’s no substitute for love. Oh he feels like Nobby Stiles, scoring with toothless smiles. He doesn’t need lies or alibis, he always plays away – no local ties. He knows the score, it’s in the net - it’s the perfect match and it’s the best a man can get. He’s got nobby style.

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