You can keep your Hulkamania; Haystacks was the man
A brooding great colossus, but I’d always been a fan
When most preferred Big Daddy, Shirley held no sway with me
I roared on the solemn Giant, World of Sport on ITV

In a pound shop caveman outfit he would mosey to the stage
Snarl and grunt and likely fart as Nana’s boiled with rage
Spanning almost half the ring and flicking back his hair
The ire of those assembled stoked, the monster didn’t care

Wilting underneath his girth each offering was downed
Belly battered victims rarely saw the second round
And yet he could be vanquished to, if good men must prevail
Three men to a leg and bundled out over the rail

A relic from a bygone age, where leotards abound
Before the soap and fireworks were needed to astound
Counted out before his time his legend will live on
The pantomimes still run today, but all the magic’s gone


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