Saturday Night

Saturday night, and its banging

Jessie's got sick in her hair

Kylies round back drain'in a sack

Cause we're short three pound ten of the fare

We're the lasses your mother's afraid of

In spandex and sequins we stalk

After your dosh on a weekender slosh

So lock up your second hand pork

We're the sociable slappers you dream of

Classically peanuts and beer

We bare pockets, and hearts

Fart in synchro, play darts

Spit further than most girls can leer

Friday nights kick off down at the two-necks

When Jessie is do'in her moves

You could swim on the crest

As she takes off her vest

To an ocean of, eyes, thighs, and booze

A kebab, traffic-cone, and a pint glass

Are the trophys we win to applause

Ok so we're cheap at the end of the week

But it's better than staying indoors

We don't hanker, respect or conviction

Though, we've all been arrested with cuffs

Charged with lewd dress and pensioner stress

For comparing the size of our muffs

We was stunned by the judges appraisal

His face was familiar in't wig

Kylie clicked on, he was the one

Who'd measured that night with a twig

Quashed, we was pretty much tripp'in

We'll buy him a larger and stout

That saying is quo, it's not what you know

It's who, and the force of their clout

lex ?04