Why Man Goes to Nando’s

Nando’s, Nando’s, oh Portuguese Nando’s. You knows and I knows
why man goes to Nando’s.

My nan goes, Hassan goes, Dan goes and Stan goes. Japan goes and Fran
goes and ladies-man Juan goes.  The man who fake-tans Ed Sheer-an
goes to Nando’s cos everyone knows that man goes to Nando’s.

Duran Duran, Manfred Man; will.i.am goes to Nando’s. Even Beyonce’s gran knows that man goes to Nando’s.

Forget about quangos and bollocks to mangos, these things are nothing
like going to Nando’s.

Shush about Tango’s and sod Marlon Brando’s, these things are nothing like
going to Nando’s.

Balls to Orlando and foot-ball-er Fernando’s, these things are nothing
like going to Nando’s.

Don’t ask if I want to dance the fandangos, that would be shit unlike going
to Nando’s.

I’m not busy tonight; I’ll see how the plan goes. But you can bet your hot sauce, I’ll be going to Nando’s.

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