My customer Chris walks into pubs where his mates blink when he arrives.
Had every ******* his radar by the time his Pravha and his hand tie.
Doesn't pique when he asks how you are; eyes busy afar, pondering up some poor bird at the other end of the bar.
Wakes up to £80 daily bills of *****, goes in again for attempts at pulling tight.
Blondes ask why he's a creep, brunettes shiver as his arm comes to sweep.
He's got nothing to do with me, yet I still pour him 568.3.

He always gets his way,
All I ever do is say stand away.
He'll never not get his way,
It's only his world at the end of the day.

Ex military Scotsman but he's never seen highlands.
Stuck in Streatham while his wife's calling another man.
He takes it out on the nearest pair of ears,
**** me mate just shed the odd tear.
You'd be less of a **** if you were less of yourself,
Don't even bother saying it, he drinks himself deaf.

He always gets his way,
All I ever do is say stand away.
He’ll never not get his way,
I already can’t stand what he’s gonna say.

If you’ve got shoulders he’s grabbing them;
A pulse; he considers ******* it.
An admin job? Seek requiem;
go back to his it’ll be a night completely spent.
There’s no saving the child inside he fronts,
to give the facade of being less of a grunt.
Chokeslamming jägers and sticking noses up at wine,
until his pawned-off Audemars strikes 1:30 and alarms ring for a line.
His favourite woman doesn’t exist yet, he says he hasn’t met her.
His favourite bloke is a celibate Tory that's somehow doing better.

He always gets his way,
I told him to stay away.
He’ll never not get his way,
This is definitely my last day.