You go down the pub
You wear make up
And old dads trousers
Why don't you tidy up
You talk like a docker but you act like a queer
You drink champagne then complain it's too dear
You try so hard not to follow any trends
Then you cry in your beer and say you've got no friends
But is it any wonder that you've got no friends
But it's not the make up
Or the way you dress
It's not your appearance, that they all detest
It's not your manners, that you gotta improve
Ooooo-it's your attitude.
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