fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

[Faustie]

Say whatever you want but the fact is she's making metric fucktons of moolah for sucking.

Open up yer trumpets, lad, and hear this little monkey's wrench.
(Listen up, and hear this story)

Las' eve me and the Georges' roger iron busted,
(Last night me and my friends' TV broke)

So we went down to tha' battlecruiser
(So we went down to the pub)

To watch the end of the match
(To watch the telly)

Now, no-ones watching the custard so we switch the channel over
(No-ones watching the TV so we turn the channel over)

Then, a fat geezers north opens
(A fat chap opens his mouth)

And he wanders up and turns the lizer over
(We wanders up and turns the channel over)

To Rebecca Black
(To Rebecca Black)

E' says, "Now fuck off, and watch the match somewhere else"
("Please remove yourself from this bar")

Now, we know clarity is imminent
(We know there could be a fight)

But we don't want to miss the end of the match

So, calm as a coma, I pick up a fire extinguisher,

Walk straight past the jam rolls that'r ready for action
(Walk straight past the arseholes that're looking for a fight)

And place it outside.

I then order an aristotle of the most ping pong tiddly in the nuclear sub
(I then order a bottle of the strongest drink in the pub)

And I switch back to our footer.

"That's fucking it", says the geezer.
("I've had enough")

"That's fucking what?", say I.
("Enough of what?")

Then I gob out a mouthfull of booze covering fatty,

and then I flick a flaming match into his birds nest
(into his chest)

And the geezer's lit up like a leaking gas pipe. Our team's won too. 2-0.

And that is why you never watch Rebecca Black when I'm around.