| Harry was a bus driver
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| He was a very forthright man
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| He’d run down the road, right over a dog
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| Before he’d change his path
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| And then he met lovely Loraine
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| They had a rough and tumble lad
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| And it didn’t come easy but the boy learned to play
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| On a twelve pound pawn shop axe
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| And everybody sing loud and shout
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| Dreamy haze pop stars
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| The boys came about that Mersey beat sound
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| Of crude little sketches of guitars
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| Well, they heard of a sound from a faraway land
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| That was ruled by a cricket and a king
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| But a pauper’s son would one day come
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| From twenty-five Upton Green
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| And there everyday was a place to play
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| When the final bell had rung
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| And when the big day come, he was just too young
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| And they sent 'em all back home
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| Everybody sing loud and shout
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| Dreamy haze pop stars
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| The boys came about that Mersey beat sound
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| From crude little sketches of guitars
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| Well, the wild ones don’t think much of Johnny
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| Yeah, a critic’s got it rough
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| And you’re a real king mixer but it’s my train mister
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| If you think that’s all I’ve got
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| Well, you’ll be beaten on down by Mersey sound
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| And then you’ll have to choose
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| Between standing on your own or singing right along
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| With the ones no better than you
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| So everybody sing loud and shout
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| Dreamy haze pop stars
|
| The boys came about that Mersey beat sound
|
| Of crude little sketches of guitars
|
| Everybody sing loud and shout
|
| Dreamy haze pop stars
|
| The boys came about that Mersey beat sound
|
| Of crude little sketches of guitars |