Вступление
[Intro]
[Verse 1]
Here’s Jack, just got back; standing at the bar brandishing his race badge
There’s no need we know where you’ve been – we’ve all seen your Matalan suit.
Where did your socks go; did your socks go to the same place as your horse?
Fifty pound at twenty to one, later found at ten past four.
I’ve seen some chumps in my time but you’re off the scale
Given an inch of encouragement you’ll take a yard of ale.
And now he’s standing on the table: he’s under starters orders.
[Chorus]
Jack’s been to the National, Jack’s been to the National
Jack’s been to the National and he’s fallen at the first.
[Instr]
[Verse 2]
That’s Jack, back on track; practising his golf swing in the car park
F1 chat down the fairway, I dare say all is well in his world.
Got property in Mobberley – probably ridiculous gate.
It’s all about salary and playing to the gallery; he’s never heard of George Lee Mallory.
On his phone at the lights; on his own most nights
You see he’s trying to win his wife back: she’s never coming back Jack;
She took her stuff back – take your shot Jack.
Bile, spite, hatred and vitriol, that’s all she’s got left for you
And the Himalayan salt lamp, the Navajo head dress
We don’t care about how much you can bench press.
Out of bounds on the left it’s a right old trail of tears.
[Coda]
So here’s to your Native American name: Great Big Whopper With Shit For Brains
Here’s to your Native American name: Great Big Whopper With Shit For Brains
Here’s to your Native American name: Great Big Whopper With Shit For Brains
Here’s to your Native American name: Great Big Whopper With Shit For Brains
Jack’s been to the National.
Jack’s been to the National.