Hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Your dipstick words,
Where’s the front lobe of your brain Mr Bird
We’d all rather forget you
Why did the club let you speak your mind
You’re second last
Yet you go speak out the left side of your arse
I wish you would have tried, But
You’re the one who often cried when things don’t go your way
Hey, Jack Bird,
Sound like a turd on the radio, stereo
The way you speak ain't fair you know
Hey, Jack Bird
Try not to miss a single tackle Saturday night
Hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey