My family knew my old flame wasn't a saint.
My mum said it herself that
He would: fight with his
Own shadow if he could.
But when it came to me,
Considering I had been in rehab,
They thougt that he was a good match,
And blokes fight when they are drunk.
It was nothing to worry over was it?
But he was sober, when he broke that
Man's ribs and smashed his cheek,
It was a restaurant opening.
He should not have been drinking.
So that was a reason,
I tried to let his jokes go over my head.
Because my family thought
It was normal for a man
To be the way he was.
That's why I bit my tongue when
He came home every night
Saying it was my fault,
He had the life of a dog. It wasn't.
I knew he was out of order
And he was not trying to
: wind me up. He crossed the line.
It wasn't my fault
That before I met him,
His inner circle took the mick out of him
Or ribbed him a bit
More than the rest at times.
That some of their girlfriend's thought
He was a bit odd, for being quiet
And being more concerned
With being the hardest drinker and fighter
Than pulling women when out.
He couldn't blame me
That his posse were the type
Of gang that if you weren't
Out with them all the time,
They moved on and
Found other people to hang around with.
Heck a lot of my friend's were like that too.
His pal's got miffed with the fighting.
They left him on his own
Some night's out when he lost it
Or started a brawl for no reason.
The amount of nights
Cut short by his fighting
Were too many too tally.