The first pint of Boddies in the old Lane Ends

downed in style.

Feel all my troubles just float away. I suspect that I’ll,

enjoy this Belgian Holiday, a prospect to beguile

Oooh, See all the cases and the old kit bags stacked in a pile

We’ve been supping on the coach to Hull, it’s miles, miles miles

Then on the ferry we all got full, a real night on the tiles

And for breakfast we had gin, how bloody infantile

‘Cos now I’ve got to play a bloody game and I feel vile

Push in a gumshield that tastes of stale beer and force a smile

Pull elastic bandages around the knees, oh what a bloody trial

Must I break into a run, is it all worthwhile

Oh, they’ve dropped another one between the posts and I feel vile.