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In every hick town in caledonia
Across this pseudo nation
You can see the most fucked up scum
That was shat into creation
Where a blue mckewan’s lager top equals
No imagination
You’re hunbelievable
You’re hunbelievable
What do they do with all the confiscated bevy,
The polis?
Buckets and bags of it?
Give it to the jakies? nah.
Drink it themselves? mibbe.
Give it back to the retailers
So they can sell it all back to us over again
The cunts (echo)
You’re hunbelievable
You’re hunbelievable
The mystery of scottish sport
Is why we hate the english so.
I love the english very much
As long as they don’t fuckin beat us
In the european nations cup
You’re hunbelievable
You’re hunbelievable
Sitting outside wembley in `79,
Jock punks in london, massive carry out
Talking to a guy in an ice cream van
So drunk for weeks and we’re goin
Way past the point of wantin tickets.
It would be horrendous now if someone
Was to hand you a fuckin ticket
You’d have to leave all the bevy
Outside the grounds by the polis dump bins
No fuckin way!
Ten minutes into the fuckin game
We’d be climbing up the walls to get out.
Fuc-kin hell.
Remember the banner
"alcoholism beats communism",
Well it beats the fuck out of football as well.
Think you’re a success
Your psyche’s a mess
Your economy is in distress
Sittin and waiting for the inevitable shot out
That never comes
Sittin and waiting for the inevitable shot out
That never fuckin comes.
