Martin

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 bookies 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

Nostalgas easier as time goes by

But that nostalga thing says

'where the fuck you're looking?'

You just missed it doing time.