The Black Stuff's Friend. ©

verse

Well we've been here before, so we both know the score

But yer out on the lash once again

Pick yerself of the floor, yer bitter to the core

Now the black stuffs yer only friend

Oh hey, diddle diddle, there ain't much of a riddle

How yer wallet is empty once more

Playin' a tune on yer fiddle? Or just having a piddle

On a neighbour's front door

Chorus

It's the same old feckin' story,

I think we know this one

I'm not being a jackanory, but there's no fuckin' glory

In being a feckin' bum

But yer still full o' scorn, ye'll be sore in the morn

But yer not changin' are ye, son?

Verse

Looking a feckin' sight, got into another fight

And it's another night in the drunk tank

Now yer missin' yer flight and yer smellin' of shite

Cos ye fell down the river bank

Singing a rebel tune, as ye stare at the moon

Wonderin' where it went wrong

But ye know what yer doin'. And yer to blame fer yer own ruin

Should I have to tell ye in a song?

Chorus

It's the same old feckin' story

I think we know this one

I'm not being a jackanory, but there's no fuckin' glory

In being a drunken bum

Yer all full of scorn , hungover come the morn

But yer still not changin' are ye son?

Guitar solo

Oh for the love of God, lad.

Won't ye grow up? cos it's just fuckin' sad.

Chorus

It's the same old feckin' story

Ye already know this one

I'm not being a jackanory, but there's no fucking glory

In being a complete bum

Bitter and full of scorn, doin' it all again the morn

Fer Christ sake, sort yerself out, son!

Before the story takes a tragic end.

Don't let drink be yer only friend.

It's time to get yerself on the mend.

Instrumental outro