| There’s a dusty old gutter he’s lying in now
|
| Mmm, He’s blind and he’s old
|
| And there’s a bottle that rolls down the road
|
| Me, I’m young and I’m so wild
|
| And I still feel the need
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| Of your apron strings once in a while
|
| For there’s taxi cabs a-hooting
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| But I can’t be foot-loose forever
|
| My suitcase it’s a cheap one
|
| My darling, she’s a dear one
|
| My head’s feeling light as a feather
|
| Take my ears and tell me when the whistle blows
|
| Wake me up and tell me when the whistle blows
|
| Long lost and lonely boy
|
| You’re just a black sheep going home
|
| I want to feel your wheels of steel
|
| Underneath my itching heels
|
| Take my money
|
| Tell me when the whistle blows
|
| Part of me asked the young man for the time
|
| With a cool vacant stare
|
| Of undue concern, he said nine
|
| It’s not so bad but I really do love the land
|
| And rather all this than those diamante lovers
|
| In Hyde Park holding hands
|
| Blowing heat through my fingers
|
| Trying to kill off this cold
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| Will the street kids remember?
|
| Can I still shoot a fast cue?
|
| Has this country kid still got his soul?
|
| Take my ears and tell me when the whistle blows
|
| Wake me up and tell me when the whistle blows
|
| Long lost and lonely boy
|
| You’re just a black sheep going home
|
| I want to feel your wheels of steel
|
| Underneath my itching heels
|
| Take my money
|
| Tell me when the whistle blows
|
| Take my money
|
| Tell me when the whistle blows |