On Friday nights when out in town,
Beware the much loved wide boy clown.
With not much sense between the ears,
Don’t mess with them, more still their beers.

To spot them look for all the bling,
The trackie bottoms, sovereign ring,
The baseball cap and eyebrow bar,
The pretty girls, the bad boy car.

Just keep your head down, do not stare,
Their ‘limping’ walk and grade two hair.
For if you do and catch their eye,
They’ll say “yeah wot, you’re gonna die”

"I’m gonna stamp right on your ‘ead,
cos I’m well ‘ard, you’re f***in’ dead”
Don’t try to reason, just get out.
We all got sense, they went without

Don’t answer back or show you’re weak,
Just keep your mouth shut do not speak
Let them talk, impress their mates,
Their little gangs and ‘drive thru’ dates

It won’t take long, they’ll get confused
Their brains begin to feel abused
“What four letter letter word shall I use next ?”
Their pint in hand, they stand perplexed

And so it seems, they’ve made their point
They’re off to smoke another joint
To talk about how 'bad' they are
Or race around town in one litre car

So I live to fight another day
I’ve had my beer, I’m on my way
But in seven days time, well it’s déjà vu
Then my mates are out, so it’s six against two…