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Re Our gig at Deptford Abyss
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Who the hell does Jeff Dreadnought think he is?
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Was he even there? - I ask myself, does he even care? - don't kid yourself
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Wait 'till our PR men hear of this.
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It's a bad review; we got a bad review, oh ha
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It's a bad review, what are we gonna do? Oh ha
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I can't walk down the street 'cos other groups I might meet and they'll smirk
E A
Oh, it's a rum old do is a bad review, oh Lord
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An' my girlfriend's fuming.
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You hacks don't know where it's at;
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You can't appreciate the master of the Strat
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Not that I'm concerned - 'course you're not, your paper's full of crap
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'Course it is, I only read the gig guide anyway.
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It's A bad review, A B-B-B-bad review, oh ha
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We got a bad review, I can't believe it's true, oh Lord
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Well I know what you look like so don't ever come near Stroud
E A
Page thirty-two, it's a bad review, oh Lord
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My girlfriend's fuming.
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OK, let's go to chapel.
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Oo-oo what's to do? It's a bad review
E A E B7
Oo-oo what's to do? It's a bad review
E A
The fearsome hollow boom of the older boys in the deep end
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Green shoots of recovery shrivelled up in harsh tomorrows
E A
Left to pick dry sticks and mumble to myself
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A melancholy emblem of parish cruelty.
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Oo-oo what's to do? It's a bad review
E A E B7
Oo-oo what's to do? It's a bad review
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Bad review, bad review, bad review, bad review.
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