| We hit the bank in Kings Street
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| Walked in with shooters and masks
|
| And from the way in to the getaway
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| Ah you could tell that we were popular lads
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| They hit Bob with a parking cone
|
| Eddie split I don’t know where
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| Left me running away with the money bags
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| I don’t know how I got outta there
|
| I hitched a ride on a rocky old boat
|
| Went overboard at Boulogne
|
| I made a deal with a fisherman
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| I drove his truck from there to the Dordogne
|
| At Bordeaux I exchanged the cash
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| With a man who deals in currency there
|
| I flew from Spain on Iberia
|
| To the edge of South America
|
| Where the sound of the surf
|
| Rolls in my ears
|
| Bringin' me a peace
|
| I ain’t had in forty-five years
|
| Say hello
|
| To the people I know
|
| From the south side, north side of Pimlico Road
|
| Tell 'em all the sun’s shining here
|
| I should know
|
| 'Cos I’m not going home
|
| All my friends are from the bad side of town
|
| We grew up in hard times it’s true
|
| We were stealing dreams
|
| Stretching the seams
|
| Turning every pound into two
|
| Oh but my limited skills
|
| With a short steel pin
|
| Led to a break in or two
|
| But I never got caught
|
| 'Cos I got well taught
|
| «Do unto others, before they do you»
|
| And once or twice
|
| When the rain falls down
|
| And the winds starts whipping the sea
|
| In those rare moments
|
| When the girls are gone
|
| I think of my life
|
| And what used to be
|
| While the sound of the surf
|
| Rolls in my ears
|
| Bringin' me a peace
|
| I ain’t had in forty-five years
|
| Say hello to the people I know
|
| From the south side, north side of Pimlico Road
|
| Tell 'em all the sun’s shining here
|
| They should know
|
| That I’m not going home
|
| Oh no, I’m not going home
|
| Not going home, oh no
|
| Not going home, I know
|
| I’m not going home
|
| No way, oh no
|
| I’m not going home |