Wip boo ba dippi apa do, be da bum ba dippi apa decca dum   Wip boo ba dippi apa do, be da bum ba dippi apa decca dum   Wip boo ba dippi apa do, be da bum ba dippi apa decca dum   Wip boo ba dippi apa do, be da bum      I know you like to have a disco   Pave the way, rotating on a six pence   Vodka and Lambrusco   Swill it down, enhance the mediocre sounds about      Meanwhile we're growing weary of a thing that used to charm   Knowing, you're gonna twist my arm      I see the sense in what you counter   One or three, you always half persuade me   Five or six drinks later   I could swear, that taste is just a state of mind, sometimes      Hours pass, we reach a peak and start to sober up and scout   Anxious, to better what this sound's about   Why then, am I a trigger for the usual retort?   “Play man, go on and be a sport”      There's no resentment over progress   When you're pissed and tripping over sideways   Waste that always upsets   Shouting louder than a fuckin' club rep   How banal, it's not my style      Wip boo ba dippi apa do, be da bum ba dippi apa decca dum   Wip boo ba dippi apa do, be da bum ba   dippi apa decca dum Wip boo ba dippi apa do, be da bum ba dippi apa decca dum   Wip boo ba dippi apa do, be da bum ba dippi apa decca dum bom