Steve Morris

  So there's little Frankie Forrester
An' Albert Mac an' me
Off wi' St Augustine's church
Fer a few days by the sea
Eighteen lads wi' not much sense
Not thinkin' 'bout the cost
Cos we've brass in our pockets fer chuckin' away
An' we've cherries to be lost
I gets the lecture 'fore I leave
About what I should expect
Mi dad sez I'll meet Jezebels
Who'll steal mi self respect
He warns about strong drink as well
An' an oath he makes me swear
But I keep mi toes an' fingers crossed
I'm determined t' 'ave mi share
Well, it's 'alf-past-six on Friday night
An' I'm ready fer 'ittin' the street
Wi' mi drainpipe pants an' luminous socks
I'm lookin' a rare of treat
Plenty Old Spice an' Brylcreamed 'air
Can't fail wi' the wimmin I'm told
But mi mam says I 'ave to wear a warm vest
So's I don't go back 'ome wi' a cold
Me an' Frankie start off on t' Draught Guinness
But I've never been used to strong beer
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