Friday Oh Friday

Every Friday evening
Posers from the pub
Stroll up to the disco
To dance like Donald Duck
The bike lights come from heaven
The sour drink comes from hell
An arm is lifted slowly
Below the sweaty smell
We hate your soppy music
We love to sing some punk
So stuff your fucking discos
We're up where they belong
Go home
Stuff your discos
We hate
The proof don't pack
They say
It's a late drink
We know
The cause of that
The queue is getting larger
The money's rolling in
If you don't wear flared trousers
They won't let you in
The lights are getting softer
You reach out for a hug
You tell her all the nice things
The same old boring words
We hate your soppy music
We love to sing some punk
So stuff your fucking discos
We're up where they belong
Go home
Stuff your discos
We hate
The proof don't pack
They say
It's a late drink
We know
The cause of that
Every Friday evening
Posers from the pub
Stroll up to the disco
To dance like Donald Duck
The bike lights come from heaven
The soldiers come from hell
An arm is lifted slowly
Below the sweaty smell
We hate your soppy music
We love to sing some punk
So stuff your fucking discos
We're up where they belong
Go home
We hate discos
We hate
The proof don't pack
They say
It's a late drink
We know
The cause of that