WHEN AN OLD CRICKETER LEAVES THE CREASE
When the [C] day is done, and the [Fmaj7] ball has spun
In the [C] umpire's pocket [Dm] away,
And [C] all that remains, is the [Fmaj7] groundsman's pains,
For the [C] rest of time and a [G] day.
There'll be [C] one mad dog and his [Em] master,
[C] pushing for four with the [Dm] spin.
On a [C] dusty pitch, with [Fmaj7] two pounds six,
Of [C] willow-wood in the [G] sun.
When an [C] old cricketer [Fmaj7] leaves the crease,
You [C] never know whether he's [Dm] gone,
If [C] maybe you're catching a [Fmaj7] fleeting glimpse,
Of a [C] twelfth man at silly mid-[G]-on.
And it [C] could be Geoff, and it [Fmaj7] could be John,
With a [C] new ball sting in his [Dm] tail.
And it [C] could be me, and it [Fmaj7] could be thee,
And it [C] could be the sting in the [G] ale
[Fmaj7] sting in the ale.