| Real friends, the sort of people you can
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| Tell your deepest secrets to
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| That you can wear your underpants
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| In front of them and not feel ashamed
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| Real friends are the sort of people you can
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| Gather 'round a biscuit
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| Race to see who can make that biscuit soggy
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| And, again, not feel ashamed
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| In fact, quite the opposite; |
| proud
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| Real friends are the sort of people that don’t care
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| Whether you’ve killed a man
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| Or whether you’ve crept into the grounds of a
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| Of a school in the middle of the night
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| And torched the fucker down
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| Real friends look beyond the surface
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| They look at what’s underneath
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| The blood, the guts, the mucus
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| The bile, that sort of thing |