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From the dew-soaked hedge creeps a crawly caterpillar |
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When the dawn begins to crack, it's all part of my autumn almanac |
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Breeze blows leaves of a musty-colored yellow |
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So I sweep them in my sack, 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, tea and toasted |
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Buttered currant buns, can't compensate |
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For lack of sun because the summer's all gone |
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La la la la, 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, 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 |
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SaturdayRoast beef on |
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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 |
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I'm never gonna to leave it |
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And I'm always gonna to stay here if |
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I live to be ninety-nine' |
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Cause all the people |
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I meet, seem to come from my street |
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And I can't get away 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, oh my autumn almanac |
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Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac |
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La la la la, 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 |
