You will be home by ten o’clock
Or your pocket money will stop
Your record player confiscated
You’ll do the chores you’ve always hated
The toilet, the dishes and the dirty stairs
They’re stained and covered in your dog’s hairs
And less of your cheek; don’t talk back
Or I’ll be taking your new duffle coat back
You don’t deserve it for your cheek
In fact you’re grounded for a week
It’s your fault that yer da ran away
And came back a different man that day
He used to be nice and lots of fun
But now to the pub he always runs
You don’t clean the living room the way I like
And as for your ironing, what a bloody site
You ask me why I’m so rotten to you
Wee greeting face Mary, boo hoo hoo