Come on
The weekend has landed
All that exists now is clubs, drugs, pubs and parties
I've got 48 hours off from the world, man.
I'm gonna blow steam out my head like a screaming kettle
We're gonna get more spaced out than Neil Armstrong ever did
I've got 73 quid in my back burner
I'm gonna wax the lot, man
The Milky Bars are on me, yeah
I'm gonna talk cod shit to strangers all night
I'm gonna lose the plot on the dancefloor
The free radicals inside me are freakin', man
Tonight I'm Jip Travolta, I'm Peter Popper
I'm going to never-never land with my chosen family, man
Anything could happen tonight, you know?
This could be the best night of my life
Come on
One, two, three, four