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