Lyrics

Bless that summer of eighty-eight On a bench outside the Ox & Gate With a sponge, spanner and rusty nail And a nice sharp piece of string Didn't make sense then don't make sense now But what the fuck's it matter? Martin missed it doing time Some with smileys and bandanas Some trailing heavy manners From the darts to the bookie's to the phone To the bar to the cab waiting outside The pub changed hands and word got around Barred nutters flooded back from miles around It was a battleground - it went off every night Martin, Martin, I'm sure he's firing somewhere Martin, Martin, fired up inside He pushed it all two steps too far la la la la la Long arm of the law Martin missed it doing time The back bar's cheesier, Big John looks queasier Nostalgia's easier as time goes by But that nostalgia thing says 'where the fuck you're looking?' You just missed it doing time