| We bang 'til death and lay siege to the pub
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| With tankards and pints in the air
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| Straight edgers worst fears, we’re addicted to beers
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| Though whiskey and cider get their share
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| Back in the day when the beer fuelled thrash
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| The tempo of the metal was high but take out the cans
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| And euthanasia is planned a force of habit left you high and dry
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| We’re thrash, thrash to the core
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| Our love for cans we can’t ignore
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| Your turn to shotgun
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| Thrashoholic means booze for everyone
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| We drink our pints, then order some tins
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| When they kick us out of the pub
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| Then back at due place we’ll draw cocks on your face if you pass out on the
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| floor
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| Drinking, drinking, drinking, drinking
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| A testament to our kidney pains
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| Vomit, vomit, vomit, vomit
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| Sick it up, drink it again
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| Thrashing and drinking
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| Boozing and pissing
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| Vodka, cider, special brew
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| We’ve got no money |