Dobba - Guitar
Norbert - Vocals
Booga - Vocals

In 1992 after a 2 year break the Fingolstones returned to the studio rejuvenated and bursting with ideas. Daz and The Charmer had both been sacked and Booga fresh out of rehab had rejoined the band.

Dobba had mastered a new instrument, the 12 string guitar and its jingly jangly sound added a new dimension to the Fingolstones sound. The three songs that were to be recorded at this session were unanimously described by all and sundry as their best work ever. Finally it had all started to come together for them. The songs were good, the playing immaculate and the twin harmonies of Norbert and Booga akin to listening to a choir of Angels singing their heavenly music to the gods.

A lot had happened in the past two years that had forced them all to grow up. Dobba had finally left university and realised that he had to pull his fingers out and find a real job. Norbert had a particularly emotional split with his then bird and Booga had dried out from the booze after a month in the priory.

The first track laid down was the beautiful and haunting Streets of Birdholme. Based on the classic Streets of London the lads adapted it to fit their own little world, with verses covering sexual excess, seething jealousy, the gulf between rich and poor and the effects of married life on the single life they all knew and treasured.

The song was a huge hit amongst their close knit group of fans and success on a huge scale looked to be just around the corner.

.

A Real Street In Birdholme.

Have you seen the whorebag behind the bar in't Market
Pulling pints of Tetley’s and foaming Burtons ale
In her eyes you'll see no pride
She'll have you on the stalls outside
Pulling down her knickers for a bit of steady tail.

Chorus
So how can you tell me
You're uuuuuseless
And say for you that life’s a curse
Let me take you by the hand
And lead you through the Streets of Birdholme
I'll show you something
That’s infinitely worse.

Have you seen the sad lad who hangs around in't Rutland
Trying to cop off with Andy Farnsworth’s bird
He really thinks that he is it
But he is just a piece of shit
And everybody knows that he's a slimy little turd.

Chorus

Have you seen the fat boy with hardly any barnet
Driving in his Peugeot with its quadraphonic sound
We all know cos we've all seen
He's really just a tight old queen
And you'll never find him when it's his turn to buy a round.

Chorus

You won't have seen the shortarse out in the pubs of Chessy
He doesn't go out drinking, he hasn't got a life
He spends his cash on DIY
At Texas and at MFI
The poor little bastard has got himself a life.

Chorus