Текст песни Touchline - Rod Stewart
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
on
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
at
dad
for
a
plan
to
turn
the
tide
He
said,
"Son,
we′re
not
here
to
have
fun"
That
winger's
trying
to
welch,
be
a
muck
Tackle
him
hard,
and
leave
him
face
down
in
the
mud
On
the
touchline
On
the
touchline,
our
dad
A
sturdy
man
of
Caledonian
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
lone
piper
played
that
beautiful
Amazing
Grace
Our
touchline
dad
had
died
Now
the
funeral
wasn't
sad,
but
a
humorous
affair
Our
dear
old
mom,
God
bless
her,
suffered
memory
loss
She
said
to
my
sister,
"Where
on
Earth
is
your
father"
Sister
Mary
said,
"Mom,
he′s
at
the
front
there
in
that
box"
On
the
touchline,
our
dad
On
the
touchline,
our
dad
Now
it′s
my
turn
in
the
stand
On
the
side
in
the
rain
And
watch
my
boys
play
the
beautiful
game
And
sometimes,
sometimes
I
look
up
to
the
clouds
and
I
say
"Dad,
I
hope
you're
looking
down
′Cause
if
it
wasn't
for
you,
all
this
might
not
have
been"
On
the
touchline,
our
dad
On
the
touchline,
our
dad
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