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 jobsbut he s won a lot of friends And he says to mehe 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 charmand 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"

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