Short crop mutton chop cut so clean.
Pasta makin' paysan, Olive Garden green.
Stompin' feet, we call him "meat", and you know what I mean,
What's his name? Sharky 17! Oi!

Sharky 17! Oi!
Sharky 17.

Boot to the pedal, speeding Route 18,
Stops at Taco Bell, fills up on some beans.
Gas a__, working class, stinking up his jeans.
What do we call him? Sharky 17! Oi!

Sharky 17! Oi!
Sharky 17.

One, two, three, Oi!
Sharky 17! Oi!
Sharky 17.

Doesn't choose a poison, keeps his senses clean,
And if you want to f___ with him there's gonna be scene.
He'll stomp your face to blood red paste, and I won't intervene,
Feel the bratty wrath of Sharky 17! Oi!

Sharky 17! Oi!
Sharky 17! Oi!
Sharky 17! Oi!
What do we call him? Sharky 17.

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