Sitting in semi darkness at the back of the pub,

Whispered conversations, while the landlord rustles up some grub

We can pull our own pints now; just leave the money by the till

Those nights are hard to forget and I guess I never will.

With speech a little slurry cozy sitting in the low chairs

It’s the time for the tall stories as the landlord heads upstairs.

Now it’s four in the morning as I sneak out into the night,

The streets are deserted not a single soul in sight.

Take a shortcut through the turf market and up to high street

Got to be careful where you walk, black ice under your feet.

As you stagger up by Joyce’s, stop at the tech for a rest

Look at the stars, contemplate life and light up your last cigarette.

Bless yourself as you pass by the grotto and head across the park,

I can see the houses in the distance their streetlights fighting of the dark.

Suddenly I am flattened on my back; I sit up and start to curse

You would have to see it to believe it; I have just walked into a horse.

I gather myself together, and make it to the front door,

Quietly climb the stairs, I hope no more surprises are in store.

The good clothes my mother ironed now lie crumpled on the floor.

I will feel no pain tonight, but by Jesus, tomorrow I will be sore.