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 ass, 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 fuck 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.