f**ing right.
Bank holiday Monday,
Sunday Hours.
So let's f** off to Alton Towers.
Ten to two, quite a few in the queue for the bumper cars.
Fit crack on the lake but her mate's got a flabby arse.
So let's hit the bars....
Where's the f**ing pub?
Where's the f**ing ale?
We don't want to queue for the mono-f**ing rail.
Where's the f**ing crack?
They're middle aged mums with big flabby bums.
Black hole queue's past the entrance gate now,
Well, I've been with Sweatty Betty and it's not worth the wait.
No!
I wouldn't stand in a queue for all the tea in China,
I'd rather lick the hairs on a dead dog's vagina,
Hair of the dog.
Where's the f**ing pub?
Where's the f**ing ale?
We don't want to queue for the mono-f**ing rail.
Where's the f**ing crack?
They're middle aged mums with big flabby bums.
f** c*nt wa*k sh**.
Where's the f**ing pub?
Where's the f**ing ale?
We don't want to queue for the mono-f**ing rail.
(Repeat to end)