MY OLD MAN

          MY OLD MAN

Never go the bog after your old man,
the stench of death, just hold your breath and splatter in the pan,
he's used up all the bog roll, to wipe his big fat arse,
the daily rag shows another slag and a half eat bar of mars.

Have you ever seen a vicious dog, straining on a chain,
it's baldy owner tattooed up, with only half a brain,
i don't know if i'll cross the road and steer well clear of it,
or take my chance and eyeball them, i think i'm gonna shit.

When i go down the pub, it's full of men on steds,
they all look at each others arms, forget their skinny legs,
they stir at you but don't look back , cos they will smash your head in,
a free taxi to A and E , for fighting armagedon.

Off on hols with wife and kids, all that i hear is swearing,
we haven't got the airport yet, these kids are so uncaring,
they argue over nothing, in their petty little life,
i don't know why we bother, i thought i'd tell the wife.

Christmas comes and Easter goes, and life is just too fast,
the telly's crap, the same old soap and weekends never last,
my football team is rubbish, they never seem to score,
i'm turning into my old man, a grumpy bitter bore.