Re: Our gig at Deptford Abyss Who the hell does Jeff Dreadnought think he is? Was he even there? (I ask myself) Does he even care? (don't kid yourself) Wait 'til our PR men hear of this It's a bad review, we got a bad review …oh Lord It's a bad review – wotta we gonna do? …oh Lord I can't walk down the street ‘cos other groups I might meet, and they'll smirk Oh, it's a rum old do, is a bad review …oh Lord And my girlfriend's fuming You hacks don't know where it's at You can't appreciate the master of the Strat Not that I'm concerned (‘course you're not) Your paper's full of crap (‘course it is) I only read the gig guide anyway It's a bad review, a b-b-b-bad review …oh Lord We got a bad review, I can't believe its true …oh Lord Well I know what you look like, so don't ever come near Stroud, Page 32, it's a bad review …oh Lord My girlfriend's fuming OK – let's go to chapel Oo-oo – what's to do? It's a bad review Oo-oo – what's to do? It's a bad review The fearsome hollow boom of the older boys in the deep end The green shoots of recovery shrivelled up in harsh tomorrows Left to pick dry sticks and mumble to myself A melancholy emblem of parish cruelty