| Out of bed at eight am
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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 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 and I come home on Saturday morning
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| I go out on Friday night 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 and I come home on Saturday morning
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| I go out on Friday night 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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| Stand in 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 |