The bar emptied and June took her old man back to the home. It'd be full again all too soon but Pete determined in his hazy head to get up out of there and welcome the travelling Sculley boys in the way that Flint fans knew best. He joined a caravan of blokes going down Brixton Road in black and red and on the piss, and with their chants of FUFC; the job and June and Jonesy on hold. Petey, known to the lads, showed his ass to passing traffic and gobbed off the overpass with them; they pissed themselves as he got out his cock and with Spez, the special one, they formed the Golden Arches and the lads took their picture and car horns honked behind.
'Petey, you porker,' they'd all say and 'show em your tits' as the grans all came out for afternoon tea. They weren't all too amused to have been shown up in the saggy tits department. It had all became a ritual of sorts and he grew bonded to them in it, never outgrowing and overcoming his place within it.
They stationed outside the gate to the olland Road training ground. Someone had nicked off with the 'H' long ago.
The Sculley lads are fucking bellends
They play like shite, we'll be all right
Cause we'll be shagging their wives and girlfriends
They belted out their lyrically overworded songs with gusto as the Sculley team bus pulled into the facility. They welcomed them with the finger and an up yours; a Flint special of expectorated sputum.