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Bless that summer of eighty-eight |
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On a bench outside the |
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Ox & Gate |
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With a sponge, spanner and rusty nail |
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And a nice sharp piece of string |
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Didn't make sense then don't make sense now |
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But what the fuck's it matter |
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Martin missed it doing time |
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Some with smileys and bandanas |
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Some trailing heavy manners |
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From the darts to the bookies to the phone |
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To the bar to the cab waiting outside |
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The pub changed hands and word got around |
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Barred nutters flooded back from miles around |
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It was a battleground - it went off every night |
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Martin, Martin, |
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I'm sure he's firing somewhere |
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Martin, Martin, fired up inside |
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He pushed it all two steps too far la la la la la |
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Long arm of the law |
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Martin missed it doing time |
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The back bar's cheesier, |
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Big John looks queasier |
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Nostalgas easier as time goes by |
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But that nostalga thing says 'where the fuck you're looking?' |
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You just missed it doing time. |
