It's time to get the Parka out
The leaves in the flaming trees
Flutter like celebrities
Already dark at half past four
Going to the fookin bar
The sky's as black as a Staffy's mouth
Even in the fookin south
Icy mornings, sugary brew
Drinks that smell like superglue
Hobbling girls in tiny skirts
Sweaty blokes in nylon shirts
Winter is a northern squeeze
It's always cold on Salford Quays
The darkness never goes away
Even in the fookin day
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