| As the temperature drops on the drunks out in Clapham
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| I turn on my bx and it’s like punk never happened
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| The community’s charged up and the West End’s alight
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| And it’s Jimmy bloody Tarbuck on a Saturday night
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| And I’m sick to the back teeth, front teeth and tonsils
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| Of hit making factories and kids sniffing Ronseal
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| The run down, the hard up and the national health
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| And it’s Jimmy bloody Tarbuck on a Sunday as well
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| Friends, Romans, country fans
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| If you’re happy and you know it
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| You can clap your hands and say yeah!
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| Yes sir no sir three bags full of newspaper
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| Sleeping by the greengrocers over by the undertakers
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| Died in a house fire mummy was at the bakers
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| Buying broken biscuits, digestives and iced wafers
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| I’ve broken my dentures, got senile dementure
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| And I’m losing my barnet
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| I’m an alternative Alf Garnett |