THE MARTIANS
HAVE LANDED IN WIGAN
by
Bernard Wrigley
 There are strange goings on in a quaint Northern town
Which the folk there are trying to keep quiet
It'd cause a sensation but they're playing it down
For they're frightened of starting a riot

'Cause they've pit men with arms that are thirty feet long
And their heads are as smooth as boiled eggs
The man who sells pies has got three great hig eyes
And the rugby league hooker is green with six legs

For the Martians have landed in Wigan
And they're wearing flat caps on their domes
And they've paid all their subs to the working men's clubs
'Cause Wigan reminds them of home

Now the Martians had lost all their bearings one night
'Cause the compass had gone up the spout
As they landed on t'slag heap the captain said, 'Right
We're home lads, so lets' all pile out'

Well they soon realised that they'd made a mistake
So some digs for the night they all hooked
Where they'd trotters and hotpot and fresh Eccles cake
And when they tasted black puddings, those Martians were hook

For the Martians have landed in Wigan
And they're wearing flat caps on their domes
And they've paid all their subs to the working men's clubs
'Cause Wigan reminds them of home

Now the Martians play bingo and speak local lingo
Like, 'Sithee,' and 'Ey up owd flower'
From the pier every day you can go to Milky Way
Or a UFO trip round Blackpool Tower

So next time you're passing through Wigan, look out
And remember the things I have said
Beware of the ones who have clogs on their feet
And aerials stuck out the tops of their heads

For the Martians have landed in Wigan
And they're wearing flat caps on their domes
And they've paid all their subs to the working men's clubs
'Cause Wigan reminds them of home. 
The end