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From the dew-soaked hedge creeps a crawly caterpillar |
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When the dawn begins to crack |
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It's all part of my autumn almanac |
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Breeze blows leaves of a musty-coloured yellow |
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So I sweep them in my sack |
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Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac |
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Friday evenings, people get together |
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Hiding from the weather |
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Tea and toasted, buttered currant buns |
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Can't compensate for lack of sun |
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Because the summer's all gone |
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La-la-la la la la-la la-la la-la la-la |
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Oh, my poor rheumatic back |
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Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac |
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La-la-la la-la la-la la-la la-la |
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Oh, my autumn almanac |
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Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac |
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I like my football on a Saturday |
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Roast beef on Sundays, all right |
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I go to Blackpool for my holidays |
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Sit in the open sunlight |
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This is my street and I'm never gonna leave it |
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And I'm always gonna to stay here |
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If I live to be ninety-nine |
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'Cause all the people I meet |
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Seem to come from my street |
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And I can't get away |
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Because it's calling me (Come on home) |
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Hear it calling me (Come on home) |
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La-la-la la la la-la la-la la-la la-la |
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Oh, my autumn almanac |
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Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn armagnac |
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La-la-la la-la la-la la-la la-la |
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Oh, my autumn almanac |
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Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes |
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Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa! |
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Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa! |
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Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa! |
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Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa! |
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Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa! (Yes) |
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Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa! (Yes) |
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Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa! (Yes) |
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Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa! |