It's 6.00am and even Big Ben Is trying to get his head down for a kip But no sooner is it down And then it's on with dressing gown For this city very rarely loses grip
But I have a friend who's never up by 10.00 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 7.00am 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 8.00am 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 its damp And they've dug him a grave And the 10.15 merchants still in bed And scrawled upon the headboard For the whole wide world to see "Died In The Arms Of Big Ted"