Del Amitri
"The Septic Jubilee"

((http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Justin Currie Justin Currie))

We're weekend smokers, part-time users
Said to possess a sick sense of humour
We slap ourselves in the face then fall asleep

We're blood brothers, bent on a ruckus
Kerb-crawling for someone to love us
With the buckle wet and a clean set of polythene sheets

We're big thinkers, children of greatness
Polished speakers, host to the famous
Bulldog grit, pussy-whipped and wagging our tails

We're clean players, honourable losers
Cradle-rocking computer abusers
Driven on by a paranoid fear of shame

So rich we spit through mouthfuls of mother-of-pearl
Great Britain sits like a tick on the skin on the world

We're channel-swimmers, colony-baggers
Handbag-snatchers with impeccable manners
Whatever the weather we're ready to sail again

We love music, the dumber the better
Dribble Rule Britannia like chronic bed-wetters
As waxwork rock groups melt down memory lane

The flags let rip and the stiff upper lips all curl
Great Britain sits like a tick on the skin on the world

We're sensitive lovers, passionate kissers
And, once we get drunk enough, brutal and vicious
We're destiny's men; bet the rest of them envy our souls

We're home-owners, landlords of corridors
Inmates on tax breaks, hemmed in by fire doors
By night we binge, by day we cringe in our holes

We're spymasters, souls of discretion
We know how attack makes a great first impression
Quick to defend any friend, quick to charge them a fee

We're trophy-winners, grocers par excellence
Slick in the kitchen and sick in the restaurant
Stagger and fight through a Saturday night, then we're free

So rich we spit through mouthfuls of mother-of-pearl
Great Britain sits like a tick on the skin on the world