One cold and bitter Thursday, in Munich,
Germany,
Eight great football stalwarts conceded
victory,
Eight men will never play again, who met
destruction there,
The Flowers of English football, the flowers
of Manchester.
Matt Busby's boys were flying home,
returning from Belgrade,
This great United family, all masters of their
trade,
The pilot of the aircraft, the skipper Captain
Thain,
Three times he tried to take off and twice
turned back again.
The third time down the runaway, disaster
followed close,
There was slush upon that runaway and the
aircraft never rose,
It ploughed into the marshy ground, it broke,
it overturned.
And eight of the team were killed when the
blazing wreckage burned.
Roger Byrne and Tommy Taylor, who were
capped for England's side.
And Ireland's Billy Whelan and England's
Geoff Bent died,
Mark Jones and Eddie Colman, and David
Pegg also,
They all lost their lives, as it ploughed on
through the snow.
Big Duncan he went too, with an injury to his
brain,
And Ireland's brave Jack Blanchflower will
never play again,
The great Matt Busby lay there, the father of
this team
Three long months were to pass, before he
walked again.
The trainer, coach and secretary, and a
member of the crew,
And eight great sporting journalists, who with
United flew,
And one of them was Big Swifty, who we'll
ne'er forget,
The finest English goalkeeper that ever
graced the net.
Oh, England's finest football team, its record
truly great,
It's proud successes mocked by a cruel turn of fate.
Eight men will never play again, who met
destruction there,
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester!