I make no excuses for this bit of tat. On Whalley On.
Glory, Glory, Eric Whalley
Mine eyes have seen the coming of Coley the Lord
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored,
He has loosed the faithful following of his tremendous Red Hord
His truth is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley!
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley
Stanley is marching on.
I have seen Him in the eyes of a thousand chanting fans
They have builded Him an altar in Frazer Eagles Land
I can read His righteous sentence by the flaring flood lamps
His day is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley!
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley
Stanley is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished Roof of steel,
"As they deal with all comers, So with you our small crowd shall deal;"
Let the Hero, born of Stanley, crush the hotheads under heel
Since Coley’s is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley!
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley
Stanley is marching on.
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat
Oh, be swift, my Stanley, to answer Him! be jubilant, your feet!
Stanley is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley!
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley
Stanley is marching on.
In the beauty of the Reds was born across the band of time,
with a glory in the colours that transfixes you and me:
As He led the Reds to Glory, he led to the league,
while God is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley!
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley
Glory! Glory! Eric Whalley
His truth is marching on.