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Autumn almanach
truly, oh, truly, there's nothing in this life without your love
Created on 2007-06-09 10:49:19 (#13124121), last updated 2009-12-04
438 comments received, 92 comments posted
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306 Journal Entries, 2 Tags, 1 Memory, <10 ScrapBook Files, 0 Virtual Gifts, 1 Userpic
Basic Info| Name: | Harry Rag |
|---|
BioFrom 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.
Oh, my poor rheumatic back
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
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
Oh, my autumn Armagnac
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
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.
Oh, my poor rheumatic back
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
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
Oh, my autumn Armagnac
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
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