Intro:
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It's six a.m. and even Big Ben
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Is trying to get his head down for a kip
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But no sooner is it down
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And then it's on with dressing gown
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For this city very rarely loses grip
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But I have a friend who's never up by ten
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He's fast asleep with mouth open wide
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He's lost a lot of jobs, but he's won a lot of friends
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And he says to me, he cannot tell the time
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It's seven a.m. and we're coughing up the phlegm
Spitting out the taste of night before
And we'll vomit and we'll choke
Just to climb their tatty rope
Well this city has its charm and its claw
And he'll blame his clock
Or he'll say he's lost his socks
And they'll tell you that he's been bitten by a snake
His excuses are an art
>From the bottom of his heart
And he thinks of them whenever he awakes
It's eight a.m. we're on the road again
Racing for a placing at the top
And it says green for go
For the people in the know
But for the others all it says is red for stop
It's cold and it's damp
And they've dug him a grave
And the ten fifteen merchant's still in bed
And scrawled upon the headboard
For the whole wide world to see is
"Died In The Arms Of Big Ted"
