| He’s got money in the bank, two cars on the drive
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| Three smashing kids and a beautiful wife
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| He’s got an en suite and a flash TV
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| A fully fitted kitchen and a DVD
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| He takes a lot of money but he always makes a loss
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| He knows the tax man’s watching but he doesn’t give a toss
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| He’s got his own firm in more ways than one
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| But he’s a different geezer when Saturday comes
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| I just can’t help it, all I wanna do is fight
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| And Saturday afternoon’s gonna be alright
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| His wife makes his dinner, Armani makes his jeans
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| But Italian names can’t hide the fact that he ain’t what he seems
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| He’s a bit lively when he wants to be
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| But he’ll still give up his seat for an OAP
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| He likes a bit of toot to compliment his beer
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| He’s always got an audience to ask about his gear
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| His home’s a million miles away now he’s with his crew
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| Fired up, ready to ruck he knows just what to do
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| He’s got an email address and his own website
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| It’s the only way to organise a modern street fight
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| The police have got a picture he don’t want his mum to see
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| But she’ll see it tonight on the BBC
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| It went off in the boozer, it went off in the street
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| It went off in the car park and it went off in the seats
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| His jacket’s all ripped but he couldn’t give a fuck
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| It’s Saturdays Glory and he loves a ruck |