Post by Ali on Mar 12, 2006 17:00:49 GMT
Bonjourno all - I'm bored trying to work and being depressed by England's abysmal attempt at egg chucking so thought I'd post the two tour songs for those that don't know - worth learning as I'm sure Dags, as a member of the old school, will be playing them on any and every occassion. Also putting in couple of shoe-ing songs for those that are retarded and don't know them yet:
On a warm summer's evenin' on a train bound for nowhere,
I met up with the gambler; we were both too tired to sleep.
So we took turns a starin' out the window at the darkness
'til boredom overtook us, and he began to speak.
He said, son, I've made a life out of readin' people's faces,
And knowin' what their cards were by the way they held their eyes.
So if you don't mind my sayin', I can see you're out of aces.
For a taste of your whiskey I'll give you some advice.
So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow.
Then he bummed a cigarette and asked me for a light.
And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression.
Said, if you're gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.
Now ev'ry gambler knows that the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away and knowing what to keep.
'cause ev'ry hand's a winner and ev'ry hand's a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep.
So when he'd finished speakin', he turned back towards the window,
Crushed out his cigarette and faded off to sleep.
And somewhere in the darkness the gambler, he broke even.
But in his final words I found an ace that I could keep.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count you r money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.
Where it began, I can't begin to know when
But then I know it's growing strong
Oh, wasn't the spring, whooo
And spring became the summer
Who'd believe you'd come along
Hands, touching hands, reaching out
Touching me, touching you
Oh, sweet Caroline
Good times never seem so good
I've been inclined to believe it never would
And now I, I look at the night, whooo
And it don't seem so lonely
We fill it up with only two, oh
And when I hurt
Hurting runs off my shoulder
How can I hurt when holding you
Oh, one, touching one, reaching out
Touching me, touching you
Oh, sweet Caroline
Good times never seem so good
Oh I've been inclined to believe it never would
Ohhh, sweet Caroline, good times never seem so good
You’re not welcome on our ship, on our ship
You’re not welcome on our ship, on our ship
‘Cos our ship’s a tanker, and you’re a fucking wanker,
You’re not welcome on our ship, on our ship
You’re not welcome in our jungle, in our jungle
You’re not welcome in our jungle, in our jungle
‘Cos our jungle’s thick, and you’re a fucking prick
You’re not welcome in our jungle, in our jungle
We’re not welcome in your mum, in your mum
We’re not welcome in your mum, in your mum
‘Cos your mum’s a whore, we’ve all been there before,
We’re not welcome in your mum, in your mum
You’re not welcome in our boat, in our boat
You’re not welcome in our boat, in our boat
‘Cos our boat’s a punt, and you’re a fucking cunt,
You’re not welcome in our boat, in our boat
From the falling walls of Folkestone
To the bars of Birmingham
There’s a rumour going round and round
About the boys from Nottingham
We’ll fight for England’s glory
We’ll fight ‘till the game is won, ooh-ah!
If you’re wondering just who we are
We are the boys from Nottingham
Where we from?...Nott-ing-ha-a-am, Nott-ing-ha-a-am,
We are the boys from Nottingham
From the slimy cunts of Cavendish
To the fat slags of FB
If you see a girl from Nottingham
Will you give her one from me
CHORUS
From the cocky twats of Birmingham
To the poly that is Trent
We hate those cunts from Loughborough
‘Cos their arse is up for rent
CHORUS
There you go xxxxxx
Kenny Rogers - The Gambler
On a warm summer's evenin' on a train bound for nowhere,
I met up with the gambler; we were both too tired to sleep.
So we took turns a starin' out the window at the darkness
'til boredom overtook us, and he began to speak.
He said, son, I've made a life out of readin' people's faces,
And knowin' what their cards were by the way they held their eyes.
So if you don't mind my sayin', I can see you're out of aces.
For a taste of your whiskey I'll give you some advice.
So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow.
Then he bummed a cigarette and asked me for a light.
And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression.
Said, if you're gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.
Now ev'ry gambler knows that the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away and knowing what to keep.
'cause ev'ry hand's a winner and ev'ry hand's a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep.
So when he'd finished speakin', he turned back towards the window,
Crushed out his cigarette and faded off to sleep.
And somewhere in the darkness the gambler, he broke even.
But in his final words I found an ace that I could keep.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count you r money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.
Neil Diamond - Sweet Caroline
Where it began, I can't begin to know when
But then I know it's growing strong
Oh, wasn't the spring, whooo
And spring became the summer
Who'd believe you'd come along
Hands, touching hands, reaching out
Touching me, touching you
Oh, sweet Caroline
Good times never seem so good
I've been inclined to believe it never would
And now I, I look at the night, whooo
And it don't seem so lonely
We fill it up with only two, oh
And when I hurt
Hurting runs off my shoulder
How can I hurt when holding you
Oh, one, touching one, reaching out
Touching me, touching you
Oh, sweet Caroline
Good times never seem so good
Oh I've been inclined to believe it never would
Ohhh, sweet Caroline, good times never seem so good
You’re Not Welcome
You’re not welcome on our ship, on our ship
You’re not welcome on our ship, on our ship
‘Cos our ship’s a tanker, and you’re a fucking wanker,
You’re not welcome on our ship, on our ship
You’re not welcome in our jungle, in our jungle
You’re not welcome in our jungle, in our jungle
‘Cos our jungle’s thick, and you’re a fucking prick
You’re not welcome in our jungle, in our jungle
We’re not welcome in your mum, in your mum
We’re not welcome in your mum, in your mum
‘Cos your mum’s a whore, we’ve all been there before,
We’re not welcome in your mum, in your mum
You’re not welcome in our boat, in our boat
You’re not welcome in our boat, in our boat
‘Cos our boat’s a punt, and you’re a fucking cunt,
You’re not welcome in our boat, in our boat
The Falling Walls
From the falling walls of Folkestone
To the bars of Birmingham
There’s a rumour going round and round
About the boys from Nottingham
We’ll fight for England’s glory
We’ll fight ‘till the game is won, ooh-ah!
If you’re wondering just who we are
We are the boys from Nottingham
Where we from?...Nott-ing-ha-a-am, Nott-ing-ha-a-am,
We are the boys from Nottingham
From the slimy cunts of Cavendish
To the fat slags of FB
If you see a girl from Nottingham
Will you give her one from me
CHORUS
From the cocky twats of Birmingham
To the poly that is Trent
We hate those cunts from Loughborough
‘Cos their arse is up for rent
CHORUS
There you go xxxxxx