| Nice man George, newsagent on the corner
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| Not very rich, but never any poorer
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| Jaunty old George, a happy sixty-three
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| Not very tall, but healthier than me
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| He whistles timeless tunes as he saunters down the street
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| Springs in his legs and elastic in his feet
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| But in the middle of the night
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| He steals through your garden
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| Gives your hosiery a fright
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| And doesn’t say pardon
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| As soft as a breeze
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| With an arm full of underwear
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| On his hands and knees
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| Dreams about the knicker scare
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| Hello there George, newsagent on the corner
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| How’s the old car, yes the climate’s getting warmer
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| Chatty old George as you get your morning paper
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| Read about the knicker thief, underwear taker
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| Bids you 'Good day', as you wander out the door
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| Never closes early, always cleans the floor
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| But when darkness hits the town
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| And there’s washing on your line
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| Get your knickers down
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| Before the dreaded sign
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| When the clock strikes eight
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| And you’re snuggled up in bed
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| He’ll be at the garden gate
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| Filling underwear with dread
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| Nice man George, newsagent on the corner
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| He was closed today, maybe gone to mow the lawn
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| I had to go further down the road to get me current bun
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| Hello — Isn’t that George on page one?
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| No it couldn’t be, but yes it is
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| Difficult to see from these photofits
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| But they are after him
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| Of that you can be sure
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| They’ve called him on the phone
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| They’ve knocked on his door
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| A-But he’s gone away
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| Gone to stay with some mates
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| He got the papers early
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| And saw his own face |