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Spectator's Song

I dreamed last night I died and went to heaven
And by some chance I had got there just too late
The reason was the Saints were at the football
And Saint Peter had of course shut the gate.

And the devils all cried sit down, sit down your're blocking the view
The devils all cried sit down, sit down you're blocking the view
Or we'll come up and rag you under
By the nylon lace in your pointed shoe
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down you're blocking the view.

I climbed the fence to that football match in Heaven
It was the day that the Angels played the "Boks"
And then I found that the referee was Dannie
With Pickard and Reteif as the locks.

And the devils all cried
Or we'll come up and drag you under
To a pressure cooker that's built for you
Sit down, sit down.

The Angels lost by nil to ninety-seven
I soon got tired of the multitude of scores
And when I asked how the Springboks got to Heaven
I found out they were only visitors.

And the devils all cried
Or we'll come up and drag you under
With your fancy harp and your halo too.
Sit down, sit down.