Craig White (born 1969) is an English former first-class cricketer, and latterly cricket coach.
Born 16 December 1969, Morley, West Yorkshire, England, White was brought up in Australia, but later moved back to England, his country of birth, where he became Yorkshire's first-ever overseas signing. At the time Yorkshire still operated a policy of only employing cricketers born in Yorkshire, even though English counties could play up to two overseas players if they wished. Having played in Australia, White was not initially qualified to play for England when he returned. This led to Yorkshire listing him as an overseas player.
At the start of his career, White was an all-rounder who batted right-handed and bowled right-arm off spin. In his twenties, he changed his style to become a fast bowler, after doubts were raised about the purity of his spin-bowling action.
When Raymond Illingworth became the new Chairman of Selectors for the English cricket team in 1994, he wanted the England team to contain an all-rounder who could bat at number six, and bowl first-change. He selected his fellow Yorkshireman White for this role, much to the surprise of many media pundits and fans. By this time, White had been playing in England long enough to qualify for the national team, and he made his Test début against New Zealand. His performances were inconsistent and he was dropped after eight matches.
Oh come all you children
Don't grab that scabby hand
It belongs to Mr. Sniff and tell
It belongs to the candyman
Don't whore your little bodies
To the worms of paradise
Like Everest it's fatal
Its peaks are cold as ice
They're riding on the subways
They're riding on the streets
They'll ride you down to the gutters
They'll ride you off your feet
CHORUS
Gonna hit Crack City (Hit Crack City)
Piss on the icon monsters
Whose guitars bequeath you pain
They'll face you down to their level
With their addictions and their fast lanes
Corrupt with shaky visions
And crack and coke and alcohol
They're just a bunch of assholes
With buttholes for their brains
You can't keep on riding
The pain you know so well
They'll ride you down to the gutter
They'll ride you down to hell
CHORUS
And you the master dealer
May death be on your brow
May razors slash your mainline
I'm calling you out right now
May all your vilest nightmares
Consume your shrunken head
May the ho-ho-hounds of paranoia
Dance upon your stinking bed
Don't look at me you fuckhead
This nation's turning blue
Its stink it fouls the highways
Its filth it sticks like glue
CHORUS
They'll bury you in velvet
And place you underground
The hatred of yourself
And the sufferings that conspire
To take your little body and throw it to the fools
And the hounds that rip your flesh
Only your mind can take you out of this
Only your mind or death
I'm riding on the subway
The subway down to hell
I've finished with this journey