Stuck our faces out the windows on the way to Leeds,
Wagged our stumps together, we're not like the other breeds,
We'd lie in wait for postmen, I showed you how to spot them,
But I can't tell you that I love you when your nose is up my bottom.

Rockweiler,
Rockweiler,
Rockweiler.

We hung around the butcher's and grummidged in his skip,
I ate too many fish heads and let you eat my sick,
The tripe was ripe and mouldy, the sausages were rotten,
But I can't tell you that I love you when my nose is up your bottom.

Rockweiler,
Rockweiler,
Rockweiler.

We ate country pancakes, chased rabbits in the fields,
Barbara Woodhouse, Ronnie Barker, and Lassie on TV,
I even let you lick my p___, or have you just forgotten?
But I can't tell you that I love you when your nose is up my bottom.

Rockweiler,
Rockweiler,
Rockweiler.

©1993 The Macc Lads

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