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Out of bed at eight a.m. |
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Out my head by half past ten |
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Out with mates and dates and friends |
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That's what I do at weekends |
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I can't talk and I can't walk |
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But I know where I'm going to go |
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I'm going to watch my money go |
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At the Locarno, no |
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When my feet go through the door |
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I know what my right arm is for |
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Buy a drink and pull a chair |
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Up to the edge of the dance floor |
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Bouncers bouncing through the night |
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Trying to stop or start a fight |
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I sit and watch the flashing lights |
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Moving legs in footless tights |
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I go out on Friday night |
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And I come home on Saturday morning |
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I go out on Friday night |
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And I come home on Saturday morning |
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I like to venture into town |
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I like to get a few drinks down |
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The floor gets packed, the bar gets full |
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I don't like life when things get dull |
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The hen party have saved the night |
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And freed themselves from drunken stags |
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Having fun and dancing in |
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A circle round their leather bags |
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I go out on Friday night |
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And I come home on Saturday morning |
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I go out on Friday night |
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And I come home on Saturday morning |
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But two o'clock has come again |
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It's time to leave this paradise |
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Hope the chip shop isn't closed |
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'Cos their pies are really nice |
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I'll eat it in the taxi queue |
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Standing someone else's spew |
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Wish I had lipstick on my shirt |
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Instead of piss stains on my shoes |
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I go out on Friday night |
|
And I come home on Saturday morning |
|
I go out on Friday night |
|
And I come home on Saturday morning |
|
I go out on Friday night |
|
And I come home on Saturday morning |
|
I go out on Friday night |
|
And I come home on Saturday morning |
|
I go out on Friday night |
|
And I come home on Saturday morning |
|
I go out on Friday night |
|
And I come home on Saturday morning |
