Saturdays boys live life with insults,
Drink lots of beer and wait for half time results,
Afternoon tea in the lite-a-bite — chat up the girls — they dig it!
Saturdays girls work in Tesco’s and Woolworths,
Wear cheap perfume ’cause its all they can afford,
Go to discos — they drink Babycham — talk to Jan — in bingo accents.
Saturdays kids play one arm bandits,
They never win but that’s not the point is it?
Dip in silver paper when their pints go flat,
How about that — far out!
Their mums and dads smoke Capstan non filters,
Wallpaper lives ’cause they all die of cancer,
What goes on — what goes wrong.
Save up their money for a holiday,
To Selsey Bill or Bracklesham Bay,
Think about the future — when they’ll settle down,
Marry the girl next door — with one on the way.
These are the real creatures that time has forgot,
Not given a thought — its the system —
Hate the system — what’s the system?
Saturdays kids live in council houses,
Wear v-necked shirts and baggy trousers,
Drive Cortinas — fur trimmed dash boards,
Stains on the seats — in the back, of course!