Bless that summer of eighty-eight  On a bench outside the Ox & Gate  With a sponge, spanner and rusty nail  And a nice sharp piece of string  Didn't make sense then don't make sense now  But what the fuck's it matter  Martin missed it doing time    Some with smileys and bandanas  Some trailing heavy manners  From the darts to the bookies to the phone  To the bar to the cab waiting outside  The pub changed hands and word got around  Barred nutters flooded back from miles around  It was a battleground - it went off every night    Martin, Martin, I'm sure he's firing somewhere  Martin, Martin, fired up inside  He pushed it all two steps too far la la la la la  Long arm of the law  Martin missed it doing time    The back bar's cheesier, Big John looks queasier  Nostalgas easier as time goes by  But that nostalga thing says  'where the fuck you're looking?'  You just missed it doing time.