Re: Our gig at Deptford Abyss
Who the hell does Jeff Dreadnought think he is?
Was he even there? (I ask myself)
Does he even care? (don’t kid yourself)
Wait ’til our PR men hear of this

It’s a bad review, we got a bad review …oh Lord
It’s a bad review – wotta we gonna do? …oh Lord
I can’t walk down the street ‘cos other groups I might meet, and they’ll smirk
Oh, it’s a rum old do, is a bad review …oh Lord
And my girlfriend’s fuming

You hacks don’t know where it’s at
You can’t appreciate the master of the Strat
Not that I’m concerned (‘course you’re not)
Your paper’s full of crap (‘course it is)
I only read the gig guide anyway

It’s a bad review, a b-b-b-bad review …oh Lord
We got a bad review, I can’t believe its true …oh Lord
Well I know what you look like, so don’t ever come near Stroud
Page 32, it’s a bad review …oh Lord
My girlfriend’s fuming

OK – let’s go to chapel
Oo-oo – what’s to do? It’s a bad review
Oo-oo – what’s to do? It’s a bad review

The fearsome hollow boom of the older boys in the deep end
The green shoots of recovery shrivelled up in harsh tomorrows
Left to pick dry sticks and mumble to myself
A melancholy emblem of parish cruelty