The Tale Of The Player
The tale of the player is a funny thing
It’s a cheeky little ditty about a player friend of mine
To meet you’d assume he was squeaky-clean,
But he was a player, and not the gentle fella he seemed
You may have seen his face before
You’d never know cos he only shoots to score
He plays the world like Superman
Preserves his real identity
He plays his ladies like a game of Risk
Conquered most, if not all, of the continents,
From New York to some place in Wales
He’s sampled some of their finest hot girls
You may have seen his face before
You’d never know cos he only shoots to score
He plays the world like Superman
Preserves his real identity
Some girls he met in the Union, some in a shop
And some as he queued for chips
Some he’d just seen walking
Some the sister of a guy, he used to be able to call, a friend
You may disagree with the life that he lives
And all the pleasures he finds within that lifestyle
But he lives his life the only way he could
He’s a player by nature, Casanova and a gentleman
You may have seen his face before
You’d never know cos he only shoots to score
He plays the world like Superman
Preserves his real identity