“A beer please, colder than cold… as COLD as you can get!”
Martie was in it for the long stint, prepared to drink himself into a tremendously impressive stupor
Sure, there’d be roaring, conversations to beat the very band on show that evening
Quench your dry-mouth thirst whilst scoring an immaculate mess
Toe in too many pies to count, you fucking lied when you said that I was the apple of your eye
All you wanna do is stumble and fumble, fondle a lousy, unkempt breast
Pretty albeit owing somewhat to those ever-dependable beer-goggles
A wandering eye in hot pursuit, fingers greased, each dire strait to their own right this minute
In it to win it, the beer steers itself in the wrong direction all of the time – absolutely
Resolute dependency, standing to attention, seems what will be will be
Think with your brain and not your cock!!
Then there’s me, hid in a faraway corner, a storm in a 1/2 Heineken about to ensue
Your wife taking herself on out for the night, fifty friends by her side – ammunition
The carefree and bruised-in-battle ones will carry with them a knife
So make your final decision
You decide to score and we’ll tear that hairy beanbag outta reach
Teach you a lesson in fidelity
You’ll be drinking through a straw for the remainder of your life, lock-jawed, utterly unable to please even yourself
Delve further deeper and we’ll drag your sack of shit body on off as far as the church, lift you up over our each ‘n’ every shoulder
The parade of ladies who impaled the creep that entered the pub right from the beginning and asked for all of this
Watch yourself, Martie!