Here is one that got away and lived to tell the tale,
From Karachi Social Club and Griffin Hotel,
Wakefield nick and St Mary’s Hostel,
Motorways and car parks, parks and
Toilets, idle rich and unemployed.
From shit they sell and shit we buy,
From kids with no mums and mums with no kid.
From all dead meat and my dead friends,
Pubs and clubs,
From gutters and stars, local tips and old slag heaps.
From badgers and owls, wolves and swans.
Here is a son of Yorkshire.
Here is one that got away.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,
All good children go to heaven.
Goodbye ruby tuesday, who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day,
Still I’m gonna miss you.
