Out of bed at eight AM, out my head by half past ten, out with mates and dates and friends, that's what I do at weekends
I can't talk and I can't walk, but I know where I'm going to go, I'm going watch my money go, at the Locarno
When my feet go through the door, I know what my right arm is for, buy a drink and pull a chair, up to the edge of the dance floor
Bouncers bouncing through the night, trying to stop or start a fight, I sit and watch the flashing lights, moving legs in footless tights
I go out on Friday night and I come home on Saturday morning
I love to venture into town, I love to get a few drinks down, the floor gets packed the bar gets full, I don't like life when things get dull
The hen party have saved the night, and freed themselves from drunken stags, having fun and dancing in a circle round their leather bags
I go out on Friday night and I come home on Saturday morning
But two o'clock has come again, It's time to leave this paradise, hope the chip shop isn't closed cos' their pies are really nice
I'll eat in the taxi queue, standing in someone else's spew, wish I had lipstick on my shirt instead of piss stains on my shoes
I go out on Friday night and I come home on Saturday morning
