It’s the sort of song you hear on your hollers, in seafront bars where the only customers are dedicated drunks and hen-party early starters. Generic in the extreme, with no real hook. It could easily have featured on a BBC shortlist a few years back – it’s that dated – and that bad.
And it’s a bit of a shame as you get the idea Aisel deserves better.
I’m not the only one to tell you that the lyrics are easily the worst to grace the stage in years. Phil already did that. They’re insultingly childish. If anyone tries to spin this as some kind of empowerment anthem, they’re taking the piss with a leaky bucket.
Seriously, all that oil money, and they don’t pay for someone with more than a basic grasp of English?
Up against far stronger songs, even if money buys the odd vote, it’s not going to get this glue-factory donkey into the final – surely.