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.


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