You're in the pub at half past ten, the money for the cure all spent again,
Trying to figure out who's carrying and where they'll be that day
Forget about the night before when you were flying for an hour or more
And move across to the Central Bar hoping that you'll see
Chorus:
One of them hard cases, soft faces, who grip you with their deadly smile,
The grip it slowly tightens and the grin gets slowly deeper
And beads of perspiration stand out upon your cadgilation
Someone takes the pressure off and calls out more porter
Soon enough the tap runs dry and the afternoon goes slowly by
The Barman looks on warily as your mates come drifting in
Someone says there's a session on, a tarnished bard has just hit town
Move across to the Widows; see if you can rustle up the entrance fee from
Chorus:
A woman you know buys you your last and the evening goes flashing past
Bridie's screaming as your eyeing the slops behind the bar
The party crowd is gathering, the banjo, fiddle and mandolin
The cider flagon hunt is on, if you haven't got a tosser
Won't you bring along a dozen of......
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