Good Times

Well walking through the street where I was born;
My hair ain’t spiky and my shirt ain’t torn —
And I’m walking fast cos there ain’t no Law —
I was born in Deptford but I can’t walk there anymore
'Cause they are the good, the good, the good times
These they are the good, the good, the good times
rock and roll
We decided Alex Ferguson had to go;
He was a pervert, dictator and bore
In a few days of parting we were off of the floor
'Cause these, they are the good, the good, the good, the good times
At the end of the blower is
Peanut butter and would strangle my greed;
'Cause these, they are the good, the good, the good, the good times
'Cause these, they are the good, the good, the good, the good times
'Cause these good times
'Cause these, they are the good, the good, the good, the good times