7 Bridges to Burn lyrics

There's a young lad down the way A pugilist, with tight fists like that meme of Arthur Lives on the type of street you wouldn't clock on your Strava He's two parts child Three parts charva The type of Billy Elliot to wear a ballet-clava He skives with his lass They skip class to get off their lips Blast off their brains on the sawn-off shot glass The pupils that dilate Are the students that die early That found substance in abuse He got a ring for her finger A bracelet for his ankle and Chains for leaving the house Half his life in the nick And then I'll see him at a wake And he's nicking pickled onions off my paper plate And he says: Son Don't do what I've done And he's back behind bars before the setting of them [?] He might never learn But you know what? Us lot, we've got seven bridges to burn So we'll be that friendly tone on the phone And we'll give the wheel another turn With round heads To reavers Ship workers Steam trains Steel as Shearer Pit ponies turned Thatcher The Ashley era It's cheap as muck but I couldn't hold it dearer Something between the cream and the drips and drabs Picket line scabs and Craster crabs Come on the Mags Howay the Lads There's nowhere in Sunderland sells duty-free tabs Sides picked like jumpers from goal-posts We hail from the wall Call hailstones and gale force T-shirt weather We dress ourselves in pleasure Magpies One for sorrow Two, for joy Fifty-two thousand make the ground shake Make no mistake Magpies Magpies