My Crosby is radiant and ruddy,
outstanding among ten thousand men.
His head is purest gold,
his hair is sweaty and brown as a MONSTER.
His vision is that of the Great One
reborn for a new generation,
passes like silk,
tape to tape like jewels.
His goals are like beds of spice
His goals are like the sweetest of peaches
dripping with flavour.
His sticks are rods of gold
manipulated by the softest of hands.
His blades are polished ivory
manoeuvred by the quickest of feet.
His strong powerful legs are pillars of marble
set on bases of pure gold.
His appearance is like the Rocky Mountains,
awing mortal men with his grandeur.
His interviews are sweetness itself;
he is altogether lovely.
This is my Crosby, this my lo... friend.