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