| Buffont birds and burger boys are partying again
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| Greasy fingers grope the twin sets on the old ghost train
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| And pushing through the punters beneath the fairground glare
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| It’s Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff, duck-tail in his hair
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| It’s Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff, duck-tail in his hair
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| He’s pushing his way through queue fronts, knocking hats off fools
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| He stands up in the chairy plane, it’s quite against the rules
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| Who is that animal screaming at the girls from local schools?
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| It’s Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff, flexing his tattoos
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| It’s Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff, flexing his tattoos
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| He keeps a medicine ball hanging just inside his shed
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| So he can keep in training, hitting it with his head
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| He’ll nut you at the local hop if you as much as glance
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| At Johnny Tuff and his bit of stuff when they begin to dance
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| Da da da dance, da da da dance, da da da da …
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| Oh, Johnny he’s from way back, how far? |
| No one knows
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| The Original Boy-o still in the same old clothes
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| They say he never grew up, that’s why he’s all the rage
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| It’s Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff, permanent teenage
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| It’s Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff, permanent teenage
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| Here’s to Elv and Eddie, Brando and Jimmy too
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| And crepes 'n' drapes and leather gear, and ace cafe-food 'n' brew
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| But the hero of our story, he will always be the King
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| It’s Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff, everybody sing or else
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| Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff
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| Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff, Johnny Tuff |