Let's not stand on ceremony
I don't like you, and you don't own me
And this game stripped down to the basics
Is wipin' smiles off peoples' faces
Step inside and meet the bruisers
The A-Team lads are doin' music and movement
They are under no illusion
There's always room for self-improvement
Bloodstains on the brickwork, tiles smeared with shit
Still life on a cubicle door, cocks, bums, and tits
The lads indulge in horseplay in the showers
All of them are hung like donkeys, but with almost twice the mental prowess
Tall, blue-eyed, white-skinned, blonde-haired, and handsome
The beefy boys in the hometown team clean up and sing their anthem
But not forgetting romance, time in the sack
Off-loading of the missile right up the crack
The lads arrange a whip-round for some flowers
A very nearly sentimental scene is the normal visiting hours
Wet the baby's hand and sing the anthem
Then the beefy boys set off in search of some new heads to stamp on
Lyrics provided by LRCLIB
