You know those kinds of night’s out, that offer fun fantastic,
Then by your 5th pint some twat is coming on all drastic
As you hear another smash, your wishing your glass was plastic
Then some bulbous headed cave thing wanders over legs all elastic?
So now you’re stuck there waiting for Mr. Rivet Head Cro-Magnon
To start his mouthy warfare, throwing insults to power his hard-on
You look around forlorn, but all your office mates are long gone
He’s only three yards away now, so you’d better get your game on
Those obsidian Butterflies are dancing wildly inside your gullet
As Genghis twat, takes off his hat and exposes the expected mullet
He’s two feet away as "Oi mate" he says, you’re ready to land one on it
He says any change for the fag machine, Christ you feel a right tit
You’ve taken a decision, formed an opinion based on nowt
But a haircut and a tracksuit, assuming he’s a lout
Of the worst kind, not your kind, that’s summat to think about
You’re the cunt, that throws the punch, perhaps you shouldn’t go out.