From Under The Covers

It's six a m and even Big Ben

Is trying to get his head down for a kip

But no sooner is it down and it's on with dressing gown

While this city very rarely loses grip

But I have a friend who's never up by ten

He's fast asleep with mouth open wide

He's lost a lot of jobs but he's won a lot of friends

And he says to me he cannot tell the time

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 and we're on the road again

Racing for a placing at the top

And 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'