Warm bourbon bottle company
I won't need you anymore
Once the last drop is emptied
Ill sing myself a song of sadness
And fall asleep right where you left me

A host of disappointed optimists
Crestfallen once again
The odds were stacked against them
But they remembered when
A Ronnie Radford or Micky Thomas
Could explode a tiny ground
the roof would come off the place
An exhilarating sound
But as it drained down to ninety minutes
With chances growing thin
A thousand tin foil FA Cups
Are going in the bin.

YOURE NOT SINGING
YOURE NOT SINGING
YOURE NOT SINGING
ANYMORE!
BECAUSE YER MA
IS A *****!

Imagine hearing that everyday
As yer dad went off to work.

When you out and about
You felt the grip o the *****
There be somat about
The feel o someone you knew
But alone you feel different
Something you can barely construe
And so you delve down to
What you obviously knew.