The Beautiful South Follow

Well, I always knew
You'd take the crutches and not the skis

Always knew you'd take the stilts and then your knees
When God gave you the sky, I knew you'd take the trees
Son, you've grown those chicken wings, you just can't fly

They anchored our dream yacht to ocean bed
Chained our ideal home to bicycle shed
Clamped our racing car before we sat in driver's seat
Tied our shooting stars and wrapped them round a tree

We could've courted Einstein, could've courted Marx
We could've gone for strolls like other families do in parks
Son, you were born a dud in a family without sparks
Yes, you've got those chicken wings, you just can't fly

The chequered flag that losers despise
Never flew in our port or harbored in our eyes
'Cause we always formed that queue for second prize
This family's got those chicken wings, we just can't fly

Our winning tickets ripped up into shreds
The tale of this family is its heads
We're bouncing on a pogo stick without any springs
It hurts me to admit this but we've got those chicken wings

Yes, you've got those chicken wings and all the luggage
That the failure brings is a swallow flying high that sings
Look he's got those chicken wings, he may as well die