We all know the type
It’s generally a man
They take a small joke
Push it as far as they can
They get to the fat line
Where they should call a halt
Then they stamp across it
“What, what its not my fault”
Is the thing that they say
When they’ve been there
Upsetting all the folk
Without any care
They’re like an excited dog
With a big rubber bone
Once they got good grip
They won't ever leave alone
They don't know where to stop
Or when the joke must end
It’s fucking annoying
Drives you round the bend
You try to give subtle hints
Or that knowing look
If both of these don’t work
Basically, you’re fucked
You need to let it run its course
And move away from the arse
It's the best thing to do
before it becomes a farce
Now I've come full circle
I'm not just full of hype
I've given you the pointers
To identify the type
Every group has one
Or maybe even two
If there isn't one
Then it must be you.