The Sheila Singer Lyrics

We were just a little outback band playing pubs for peanuts
Drinking, singing, shitting bricks every time we went on stage
And most of all the gear we had was still on hire purchase
Some of it was borrowed, the rest we stole along the way

We played country music evergreens and lots of rock & roll
But I felt something missing, that we needed something more
So I got this sheila singer in to liven up the mob
Best head I think I've ever had, that's how she got the job

At eight o'clock we'd be ok, be pretty good by ten
By midnight we'd be fuckin' great, we'd all be pissed by then
And a punch-up after every gig, the band just on our own
To see whose job it was to drive that sheila singer home

My brother Terry he played bass, I played guitar and sang
And a bloke who looked like Ringo was on drums and other things
Ian played the lead guitar on a home made speaker box
And the sheila singer kept on giving head, that's how she kept her job

We'd play pubs and parties one weekend, a barn dance out of town
Think that was the time that me and the sheila singer got found out
When the other three sprung her giving me a head job in the van
Just jealousy I reckon, but the fuckin' punch-up started then

At eight o'clock we'd be ok and pretty good by ten
By midnight we'd be fuckin' great, we'd all be pissed by then
And a punch-up after every gig, the band just on our own
To see whose job it was to drive that sheila singer home

And so began the downhill run as practice turned to punch-ups
I think secretly us blokes could see where we was heading next
So best we split and stay good mates cause we all twigged together
If that sheila singer sang for shit we'd be at least two turds in debt

And so me brother now he just plays golf but I still drink & sing
And the bloke who looked like Ringo's gone inside for drugs and things
Now Ian just plays gospel, and shit happens so they say
The sheila singer swallowed a microphone, had to give the game away

At eight o'clock we'd be ok and pretty good by ten
By midnight we'd be fuckin' great, we'd all be pissed by then
And a punch-up after every gig, the band just on our own
To see whose job it was to drive that sheila singer home