Thatcher's Gold

Staring at the ground

At a flattened-out Thatcher’s Gold

Story as old as time itself

Work all week, Friday

Raise hell at the ring of the bell

Gloves on as lads are scrapping

And girls are cheering them on

Party of one, please, in a six-seater

Watching the meter tick up

It seemed like a good idea at the time

Fours years on

Leaning at the bar

Said you would, but you never moved far

And everyone knows who you are

Keys lost and it pissed you off

Smashed phone on the floor

“What’d you do that for?”

Kicked off and you kicked out the door

At kick-off at the match you went out for

Now you’re soaking, cold and bored

Don’t help that it’s raining, either

Shake it off mate, it’s alright

Take it easy, have a breather

If it helps, do a shot of tequila

Are you having a shit time?

Stub it out on the bin

Now your mates won’t come outside

And now you can’t go in

Locked out on a Friday night

Henry Weston supernova

Locked out but I feel alright

Locked out on a Friday night

Henry Weston supernova

Locked out but I feel alright

Same again over and over

You were only twenty-two when you moved to the city

And no, I don’t think you knew what you were getting yourself into

Now you’re always out

Giving her a shout

Only got the guts before you pass out

Two for a fiver

(Five and drive)

Designated driver

She likes you, she don’t love you

That’s something that you gotta get used to

Said you couldn’t look her in the eye

But it didn’t feel awkward in the sheets last night

Now you can’t even find an outfit you like

And your hair ain’t doing what you wish it would

So you walk on down

Sink a couple of pound

“Fucking hell, twenty-five quid for a round?”

Locked out on a Friday night

Henry Weston supernova

Locked out but I feel alright

Locked out on a Friday night

Henry Weston supernova

Locked out but I feel alright

And I don’t wanna go dancing

Tonight

I just wanna go somewhere

Alright

And you told me that I’m not

Your type

So I don’t wanna go dancing

Tonight

Now I’m staring at the ground

At a flattened-out Thatcher’s Gold

Story as old as time itself

Work all week, Friday

Raise hell at the ring of the bell

Gloves on as lads are scrapping

And girls are cheering them on

Party of one, please, in a six-seater

Watching the meter tick up

It seemed like a good idea at the time

Locked out on a Friday night

Henry Weston supernova

Locked out but I feel alright

Locked out on a Friday night

Henry Weston supernova

Locked out but I feel alright

Same again over and over

Locked out on a Friday night

Henry Weston supernova

Locked out but I feel alright

Locked out on a Friday night

Henry Weston supernova

Locked out but I feel alright

And somebody took the piss right out of you