There's a strange event on Friday nights
in every city and town.
Old ladies walking with a purpose
but what is going down?
All through the week they're kind and caring
and in their eye a glint.
A friendly wave, the smell of soap
and the offer of a mint.
But on this night in question they speak
a strange and foreign lingo.
Don't cross a granny in her wrinkled tights
when she's off down to the bingo.
Four corners, full house, dibber at the ready
one number for a line.
She'll kill if someone calls up first
and gladly do the time.
My mum went once but never again
and it's not that she was scared.
She couldn't take the reflected light
from the rows of blue rinse hair.
No luck this week but she'll return
the lack of winning gets up her hooter.
But she will make a more powerful return
on her brand new mobility scooter.
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