In Walton on the Naze, we trace our laughter's gleam, Past memories of childhood, like a sunlit dream. Caravan holidays on golden sands, With 2p arcades bright, and games that filled our hands. We'd sip our snake bite with a grin so wide, Like George's marvellous brews, with magic inside. Playing knock down ginger, with stealthy delight, While cats watched on, only them did we slight. In the club on the double decker, we’d dance away, With Southern Comfort lime as night turned to day. Through ghost trains’ hauntings, we’d ride without fright, Firm best friends now stand at your grand 50th's light.