| Unstable stands afflush with fans
|
| Pilfered piles and pints in wobbly hands…
|
| In the bowls of the bar two boys spar
|
| Don’t flinch an inch and territories marked
|
| Oh I’d swear by my own cock and balls
|
| And the family home’s four walls
|
| There’ll be no treason this season
|
| The players they bask
|
| The boss he basks
|
| Just win the big match it’s all I can ask
|
| Darrell my son the bastards won
|
| We’ve been lumbered with loosing life for far too long
|
| The ground groans like the belly of a sleeping whale
|
| Don’t flinch an inch you’ll be released on bail
|
| Oh I’d swear by my own cock and balls
|
| And the family home’s four walls
|
| There’ll be no treason this season
|
| The players are slack
|
| The boss has been sacked
|
| Just win the big match it’s all I can ask
|
| Woebegone with weeping
|
| That sets you down to sleeping…
|
| Please canary, please be wary
|
| The pit of a man’s heart is dark and scary
|
| Oh are yer yellow with cowardice?
|
| Oh are yer yellow with jaundice?
|
| A slap on the arse from my baby
|
| The hiss and the sting
|
| And the mark of a ring
|
| And the cold reality
|
| Who are yer? |
| Who are yer? |
| Who are yer? |
| Who are yer? |