Piling in the back seat, party on in Duke Street Carry on, and turn right, we're all tanked up Knocking on the door, like Didn't have an invite His face didn't look right So we beat him up Eh Up! Let's sup! Where's the fu*king ale, lads? Sirens go, Plod pulls up, Stez is in the garden puking up By god, you should have seen us Fifty pints between us Beater had a flabby penis He's all tanked up