Tour De Yorkshire

I've sent my whippets to Walthamstow,

Pigeons to Trafalgar Square;
My front lawn needs a cut and mow,

My canaries could do with care!

Old hobbies are being neglected,

In favour of something new;

My shed's full of bikes selected,

To keep fit and healthy too.

No garden forks, just carbon forks,

As well as my lycra kit;

Leads to some with eyes on stalks

Come on this is it!

Since Harry left his Guiseley place,

There's no more fish and chips;
Said goodbye to newspaper plates,

Isotonic drinks one sips!

Farewell flat cap it's now a kask
Since Dickie Bird last raised his finger
Why at last is this you ask
There's change, no time to linger

Out with roast and Yorkshire puds

Now protein shakes and gels
Said farewell to roast for good
It's them that belly swells

It's cycling that inspires for sure,

The County's Grand depart;

Beginning of Le Tour de Yorkshire

It's the start to race the heart.

There's no more grim inscriptions,

On dark satanic mills;
Just beautiful descriptions,

Of Yorkshire's Dales and Hills!

Cycling's now set out its stall,

Built a bright new Yorkshire brand
That's as sturdy as them dry stone walls

That adorn the county's land.

To the people of Yorkshire who aided

A toast! With Tea in hand!

And of course we'll be serenaded

by  Brighouse & Rastrick Band!

Tour de Yorkshire

I used to go to bakery, I used to walk for 't bread,
But I don't like walking anymore, I like to ride me bike instead.
Since they told us o Tour de Yorkshire, God's own county's Grand Depart,
Well I dusted off me tricycle, now where is the start?
I've begun me preparation they'll need me for the race
Although I'll have to do more practising if I'm to set the pace.
It's bloody hilly round here and full of cobbled streets
At my age they say no cycling I should stick to my two feet;
I need a risk assessment? Nay lad I'll be reet,
I'm ready and I'm able I will have them beat.

I'm sure the other residents they look at me and frown,
As they see me struggle up them hills, they see me racing down.
It's a bugger goin up them hills, like our finest Grand Old Duke
And them cobbles when I'm going down, well they shake me till I puke.
I've had to buy more Fix-o-dent to keep me teeth in t' face
Them cobbles are right bleeders and t teeth chatter out of place.
I hope my brakes will hold out when I come down wi' me bread
I dont want a wreath wi' teeth in saying the silly buggers bled.
He should have walked to bakery and left that bike in shed

If he'd have left it t' professionals he wouldn't end up dead!