Lyrics

(Verse 1)
Here comes Jack with his Tesco bag,
Wearing shoes that belong in the rag.
Same grey hoodie since ‘09,
Still thinks spending’s a federal crime.

He’s not about flash, nah — he’s low-key,
But don’t expect him to buy your tea.
When the group chat plans a night out,
Jack’s the first to flake and pout.

(Chorus)
He’s got tight pockets and a tighter grip,
Would split a napkin, then try to skip.
Hairline’s backin’ out like a scared old cat,
But he’s zoomin’ in on toes — what’s up with that?
Yeah that’s Jack, always owes,
Still hasn’t paid me back from two Jäger flows.

(Verse 2)
No flashy car, just a rusted Ford,
He calls it “vintage” — we call it bored.
Pulls out coins like he’s countin’ pain,
And always “forgets” when it’s his round again.

But drop a sandal or a bare heel sight,
Suddenly Jack’s wide awake at night.
Says he’s chill — “it’s just a phase,”
Mate, you’ve been like this for 400 days.

(Chorus)
Yeah he’s tight with the cash,
But his browser’s got a toe-pic stash.
Won’t buy socks, but he’ll rate your feet,
In creepy silence or sly discreet.
So here’s to Jack, king of thrift,
With a wallet locked like a powerlift.

(Bridge)
Maybe someday he’ll pick up the bill,
Or admit his toe thing’s a genuine thrill.
But ‘til that day, we laugh and learn,
That Jack’s the type who’ll never return…

(Final Chorus)
To Jack — the frugal footy fan,
Who’s never paid since this whole thing began.
Recedin’ fast, but holdin’ firm,
On every pound like it’s long-term.
So here’s to Jack, we love ya mate,
But you owe us all — and it’s gettin’ late.