Strikes the bell for 5 o'clock, Uncle Arthur closes shop
Screws the tops on all the bottles, turns the lights out, locks it up
Climbs across his bike and he's away
Cycles past the gasworks, past the river, down the high street
Back to mother, it's another empty day

[CHORUS]
Uncle Arthur likes his mommy
Uncle Arthur still reads comics
Uncle Arthur follows Batman

La la la la la la, la la la la la la la
A winter's day, a bitter snowflake on my face
My summer girl takes little backward steps away

Jack Frost took her hand and left me, Jack Frost ain't so cool

[CHORUS]
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat that's red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat 'cause I feel cold

Just look through your window, look who sits outside
Little me is waiting, standing through the night
When you walk out through your door I'll wave my flag and shout

Ohh, beautiful baby
My burning desire started on Sunday
Give me your heart and I'll love you till Tuesday

Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Da da da dum

Who's that hiding in the apple tree, clinging to a branch

There is a happy land where only children live
They don't have the time to learn the ways Of you sir, Mr. Grownup
There's a special place in the rhubarb fields underneath the leaves
It's a secret place and adults aren't allowed there Mr. Grownup,
Go away sir
Charlie Brown got's half a crown, he's gonna buy a kite

Jimmy's ill with chicken pox, and Tommy's learned to ride his bike

[spoken]
Here is the news
According the latest world population survey
The figures have reached danger point, my god
London 15 million 75 thousand
New York 80 million
Paris 15 million and 30
China 1000 million
Billington-Spa: lots

My studies include suffragy
I formed my own society
To study the power of fecundity
The world will overpopulate
Unless you claim infertility

War made him a soldier
Little Frankie Mear
Peace left him a loser
The little bombardier

Lines of worry appeared with age
Unskilled hands that knew no trade
Spent his time in the picture house
The little bombardier

Frankie drank his money
The little that he made
Told his woes to no man
Friendless, lonely days

Then one day, in the ABC
Four bright eyes gazed longingly

Montains of Lhasa are feeling the rain
People are walking the Botella lanes
Preacher takes the school
One boy breaks a rule
Silly boy blue, silly boy blue

Yak butter statues that melt in sun
Cannot dissolve all the work you've not down
A chela likes to feel
That his overself pays the bill
Silly boy blue, silly boy blue

You wish and wish, and wish again
You've tried so hard to fly

Smiling girls and rosy boys
Come and buy my little toys
Monkeys made of gingerbread
And sugar horses painted red
Rich men's children running past
Their fathers dressed in hose
Golden hair and mud of many acres on their shoes
Gazing eyes and running wild
Past the stocks and over stiles
Kiss the window merry child
But come and buy my toys

Let me introduce you to the gang
Johnny plays the sitar, he's an existentialist
Once he had a name, now he plays our game
You won't feel so good now that you've joined the gang
Molly is the model in the ads
Crazy clothes and acid full of soul and crazy hip
Someone switched her on, then her beam went wrong
Cause she can't switch off, now that she's joined the gang
Arthur is a singer with a band

She'd walk through the door and she'd set up the drinks
on the house
She played a good game of darts, and the men slapped
her back
And never took her out
She wore a trenchcoat khaki
Her hobnail boots were full of holes
She's got medals
Her mother called her Mary, she changed her name to Tommy,
she's a one, oh
She went and joined the army, passed the medical
Don't ask me how it's done

This girl is made of lipstick
Powder and paint
Sees the picture of herself
Every magazine on every shelf
This girl is maid of bond street
Hailing cabs, lunches with executives
Gleaming teeth sip aperitifs
This girl is a lonely girl
Takes the train from Paddington to Oxford Circus
Buys the Daily News
But passengers don't smile at her, don't smile at her
This girl is made of loneliness

There's a little churchyard just along the way
It used to be Lambeth's finest array
Of tombstones, epitaphs, wreaths, flowers all that jazz
Til the war came along and someone dropped a bomb on the lot

And in this little yard, there's a little old man
With a little shovel in his little bitty hand
He seems to spend all his days puffing fags and digging graves