Dobba officially left the group in 1992 to pursue other creative interests. This of course finally resulted in the publication of his first novel "Plenti & Grace" in 2008. 16 years in the writing Steven Spielberg has recently snapped up the rights to turn this epic blockbuster into a sure fire box office smash.
To celebrate this momentous achievement the remaining members of the Fingolstones decided to pen a tribute number to him. Unfortunately Daz had to drop out at the last minute as he was stuck at work due to an unexpected coach load of pensioners demanding tea and those little triangle sandwiches with the crusts cut off.. Undeterred the session got under way with Norbert yet again providing vocal duties as well as playing all the instruments. By this stage in the Fingolstones career the band was becoming more and more a one man operation and Norbert was seriously considering going solo. Despite all this Norbert managed to produce yet another masterpiece. In 3 short minutes the song tells of the rise and fall of one of Rocks great performers. A guitarist of supreme talent who never quite fulfilled his potential. Thomas The Tank Engine and Peppa Pig have a lot to answer for. During the late 80's early 90's Dobba was one of the most distinctive characters in the UK music scene. His style was described by Womans Weekly magazine as a cross between Steven Tyler and Pat Butcher.
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Dobba played guitar
Jammin good with Norbert and Booga And The Charmer and Daz He played it so loud His dad he would shout Turn off that racket now It's just a bloody row Dobba looked like shite Scruffy clothes and scruffy hair do Like some twat from Birdholme His nails needed filing His belly would hang Oh tried to hold it in Strung out on Ventolin So where were the Fingolstones When the birds tried to suck him in Without our advice to guide him He would pull the ropey mares And say hey man who cares Dobba liked his beer Supping ale from noon until sunrise The kid had no class Shag any lass With his hairy ass Oh but it all went bad Met a bird and she was mad Going out with this psycho She chucked a bottle right at his head Like a real ale messiah When Dobba got too canned We had to break up the band |