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Show me the streets he kicked about on… when he was just ten,
Show me the shipyards where he grew to be a leader of grown men,
Show me the fields where he first dreamed of his footballing fame,
And the walls his leather casey struck, as he learnt his beautiful game.

His first love Glasgow Rangers could have tinged his red blood blue,
But I need to visit Queens Park, East Stirling, St. Mirren too,
And Ayr, Dunfermline and Aberdeen to see if it’s hidden there,
I need to know the answer, coz it’s drives me mad, I swear.

Because something happened to this man at some stage of his life,
He wasn’t born one of us, thinking – United, kids then wife,
But it happened somewhere as he grew and I need to know,
What made his heart United, what drove his spirit so?

He could have followed Fagan, Paisley or Dalglish,
But his heart brought him to Manchester so he could unleash,
Twenty five years of trophies from when I was a kid,
A career rewriting history books for Man U-ni-ted.

But why us I think, why Manchester, for your manager’s fix?
Why so happy giving us your life since Nineteen eighty six?
It wasn’t quick fix glory in the most selfish-ist of sense,
You built us a whole empire and went on the offence.

You made the dreams come true that I didn’t know were mine,
You found us all the kids who would peak in ninety nine,
From near and far, you found them all, relentless in your search,
Your one track mind, quite focussed, knock the scousers off their perch.

The trophies rolled, the records broke, the accolades did flow,
But even through these glory years, there’s one thing I must know,
Why here, why now, continuously, what drives this great man on?
Dedicating his life to Manchester but not born Mancunian.

You’re Scottish and proud, the super race, superior you say,
But give him the keys to Manchester; he’s Manc in every way,
He changed our path, he made us laugh, he filled our lives with glee,
No man it’s true could ever do as much as our Fergie.

You dragged us from the eighties and the doldrums of our dread,
You changed the happy gene for good for generations of red,
You put us on the map again; you made our city known,
All round the world and back again, United on our throne.

Even now with records broke, it’s plain for all to see,
You won’t just leave but leave us with a ten year legacy,
The safest structure that ever was, a team for many years,
You’ve earned your place in history, the third of all our sirs.

His cheeks are red, his language blue, he dances like my dad,
But he’s a winner through and through, the best we’ve ever had,
With his hairdryers and tea cups he’s ruled the dressing room,
With a clenched fist to the Stretford End, he made Old Trafford boom.

He changed my life, he changed yours too, lest we should forget,
It’s doubtful any other man put such a spring into your step,
This steely Scot, he’s won the lot, our saviour from Govan,
But still I really need to know what drives this great man on?

There is a picture hanging, it’s said above his bed,
Is it a clue, it must be true, why he became a red,
For smiling down on his eiderdown in coat and trilby hat,
Is a picture of another great; the legendary Sir Matt.

Is this the reason that you’re shaped in just the way you are?
Is this the man whose ambition has driven you so far?
It has to be the answer; at last I think I know,
But now another question nags at me what drove Matt Busby so.