Frodsham nights

Lyrics

Frodsham Nights Down in Frodsham where the pie shop lights glow bright, Gary Barlow’s hometown singing through the night, Mr Fetcher on the corner knows the gossip before dawn, If your business hits the high street, mate, the whole town carries on. At the Queens the pints are pricey, wallet crying at the bar, But Number 13 gets stranger than a late-night film noir, There’s a girl down in the toilets asking questions out of place, And the locals just keep laughing with a grin across their face. Oh Frodsham town, you mad old crown, Where the stories never die, From the Bear Pit’s cheap old Taddys To the smoke beneath the sky, The wisemen and the women Sit debating every night, And the Chum’s the final refuge When you’ve drank your last invite. The Belmont keeps it steady, proper pub and proper cheer, And Forest Hills Hotel survives another busy year, Ray the pot wash swearing loudly like a tiny Gandhi clone, Moaning while he scrubs the plates and mutters to his own. Elaine Taylor turns the hallway into something like a dream, While Scottish Ellisa counts the figures for the team, Donna flies through breakfast grabbing plates at lightning pace, Tony burns the black pudding with a puzzled-looking face. Adam Dawson looks like Jim from Friday Night Dinner fame, Beno wants to box like Winstone but it’s mostly just the name, Morgan tells on everybody, grassing every little sin, Chris Kay flies round the building like a blue-arsed fly on gin. Oh Frodsham town, you glorious mess, Where everybody knows, Who’s sneaking out the back room doors And where the rumour goes, Alex and Sam in hiding, Steph like Meg behind the desk, Ian says he played rugby once While fixing up the mess. Little Rachel, Mike, Justena, Mel and Ste all soldier on, Polish Mike and Louise still cleaning sheets from dusk till dawn, Georgia’s called in sick again, no shock to anyone alive, Jess and Amber in the office keep the backroom spirits high. At the Corner House the Taddys pours like liquid northern gold, Furfy stirs the arguments with opinions loud and bold, Fletcher downs another pint while Steve demolishes a pie, Anne throws people out for swearing as the Saturday rolls by. Mac and Steph in parked-up motors somewhere out beyond the lights, Shovvy, Pippa, Julie barred from half the pubs on Friday nights, Bear Pit WhatsApp buzzing with the gossip and the bets, Bodger chasing gambling wins he probably still regrets. Josh looks just like Harry Potter with a pint held in his hand, Gary Bin like Colin Crompton, funniest bloke in all the land, And every road through Frodsham holds a tale you can’t explain, A town held up by pubs and laughs and people half insane. So raise a glass to Frodsham, to the chaos and the charm, To the pie shops and the backstreet bars that keep the whole town warm, Where every face’s got a story and every night’s brand new, And if the rumours aren’t true tonight… tomorrow’s bringing two.