Fake tales of San Francisco
Echo through the room
More point to a wedding disco
Without a bride or groom
There's a super cool band yeah
With their trilbys and their glasses of white wine
And all the weekend rock stars in the toilets
Practicing their lines
I don't want to hear you (kick me out, kick me out)
I don't want to hear you
Fake tales of San Francisco
Echo through the air
And there's a few bored faces in the back
All wishing they weren't there
And as the microphone squeaks
A young girl's telephone beeps
Yeah she's dashing for the exit
She's running to the streets outside
"Oh you've saved me," she screams down the line
"The band were fucking wank
And I'm not having a nice time”
I don't want to hear you (kick me out, kick me out)
I don't want to hear you (kick me out, kick me out)
Yeah but his bird thinks it's amazing, though
So all that's left is the proof that love's not only blind but deaf
He talks of San Francisco, he's from Hunter's Bar
I don't quite know the distance
But I'm sure that's far, I'm sure that's pretty far
I'd love to tell you all my problem
You're not from New York City, you're from Rotherham
So get off the bandwagon, and put down the handbook
Get off the bandwagon and put down the handbook