| Turn left at the lights about 50 yards down
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| There’s a pub in the corner and I’ll meet you inside
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| About quarter to eight and we’ll go into town
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| And find out what everybody’s been saying about us
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| Smalltown walls have eyes and ears
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| Stories fly thick and fast round here
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| Truth and lies are all the same
|
| Whatever you do don’t rock the boat
|
| You’ve got to play the game, play the game
|
| Ch: Is it a crime to want something else?
|
| Is it a crime to believe in something different?
|
| Is it a crime to want to make things happen?
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| To spit in the faces of the cynical fools
|
| The incrowd know that the shell is thin
|
| So they all protect the cage they’re in
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| Get drunk and stoned and wrecked again
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| No tears of rage, no cries of pain
|
| Nothing ventured, nothing gained
|
| In smalltown England
|
| Because the world outside the pint in hand
|
| Is all so hard to understand
|
| And if visions of the world come clear
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| They’re not allowed to interfere
|
| Ch: Is it a crime to want something else?. |
| .
|
| The smell of hot food from the takeaway curry
|
| Diesel fumes from a passing lorry
|
| Waiting in the queue in the pouring rain
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| For the chip shop up on Bowling Lane
|
| Well, last week we all got really smashed
|
| We couldn’t stand up, it was a real laugh
|
| And this week’s going to be just the same
|
| And the next and the next, again and again
|
| They say you’ve got to have fun while you’re young
|
| 'Cause they can’t believe there’s anything else except this |