The (Un)bearable Sh*teness Of Ian

It wasn't Ian's fault he sucked
I blame his mum and dad
For as a poet once maintained
They f*ck you up real bad
So when it came to sucking b*lls
He had an early start
And in a crowded locker room
He'd be the wettest fart
Ian is a friend of mine
To say that much is true
But all the while I was with him
I wished that he was you
Friends may come and friends may go
But Ian knew his place
Not under foot or skin
Nor on my back or in my face
And now I'm charting troubled waters
He is like an anchor
While you, fairweather friend of old,
Are just another w*nker