RIP Busby Babes

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!

R.I. P Busby Babes, forever in our hearts