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Juveniles hide your porno mags the girls got problems at her yard |
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So she's packing up her bags full of rags her man got done from Pa Na Na |
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While the Madras still in the kitchen smokes a twenty deck of fags |
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Body bags come back off planes from war torn Iraq |
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It's the stark naked truth a dark aftermath |
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With baby T, the juice, and the dog just barks |
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Remember how the bully always had the last laugh |
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It was a blast last night down the old 12 Bar |
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White socks black shoes with the ballads in the car |
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And a lump in your throat she won't understand |
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Two's on a cigarette and a talk blah blah |
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Bloody hell die o blah da glug down liquor |
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While life goes on for all the day-trippers |
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Starts off small but it's gonna get bigger |
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By the end of this letter it may all be better |
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Well she's always asking with the who, where and how |
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The girls say ooh la la |
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Well if I had another chance I'd do it differently now |
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And the girls say ooh la la la la la la |
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From Trafalgar Square where the crack pipe reeking |
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To in your dark damp flat the ceiling's leaking |
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You fell in love when you first started chatting |
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But got so bored 'cause she never stopped speaking |
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Consider this son one of the bad behaviour |
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He's keeping all the freebies delivering the papers |
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Ya haters shake down fakers |
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Ah you'll never get nowhere 'cause we're the Pacemakers |
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Pretty please me ah she's easy on the eye |
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Some say that today only the good young die |
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Yippy yo kay ay it's been a right good day |
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I wanna ask questions but I don't mean to pry |
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How did you get to where you're going to before you came |
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Slowly moseying through this bar you started your race |
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Johnny cock-a-roo wants his money |
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Better give to the man he's a fruit and nut bar |
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Gotta see the GP coughing up lungs |
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And the doc said stop or you're gonna die young |
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Well I haven't even started to do what I'd done |
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You young don't listen you just carry on |
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Well we heard it all before when you song got sung |
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Get a grip son why 'cause you always drunken |
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We're not captain's just skivvy sunken |
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Hum drum drum live fast die young |
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Blister skin stumbling the road rocky and trespassers on the private property |
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Remember back then it was the rant the banter |
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While young songs watch their young pars get cancer |
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While vagabond sandy crying out for a nista |
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Missed her so much that he went drank the brewery |
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Well sing-a-long Sam this is a song about you |
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We all went out and we got pistola |
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I don't wanna fight he's a right big cunt |
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But the fellas say go on my son my son |
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Well it's all a bit of fun til someone gets done |
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But the fellas say go on my son my son |
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I'm more likely to pick up and run |
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But the fellas say go on my son my son |
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Ah ****, well he's a right big cunt |
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I'll knock him one **** that run run. |
