| Pushing his pen across the page
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| To nowhere in particular
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| He’s dreaming of his holidays
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| His stomach’s perpendicular
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| He tried to keep his fit interest
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| But the summer’s nearly here
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| The only exercise he really gets is when he’s lifting beer
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| Our man is feeling rather wonderful
|
| Lying somewhere comfortable
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| His feet up in the air… oh
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| Our man is sipping drinks incredible
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| Eating all that’s edible
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| He hasn’t got a care
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| His day’s spent pushing money around
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| But he’s not got a lot of his own
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| His wife lives on the other side of town
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| And all his kids are fully grown
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| Would this enormous corporation
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| Lose much more than it’s pride?
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| If he was to take an early pension
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| With a little on the side
|
| Our man is feeling rather wonderful
|
| Lying somewhere comfortable
|
| A-bathing on his yacht… oh
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| Our man is drinking drinks exotica
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| Dreaming of Uttoxeter
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| I think not
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| He’s fanning himself with fivers
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| And drinking blue lagoons
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| He’s watching erotic scuba divers
|
| While the band plays calypso tunes
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| Our man is feeling rather wonderful
|
| Lying somewhere comfortable
|
| His feet up in the air… oh
|
| Our man is on his archipelago
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| And he smiles becasue there’s no
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| Extradition there… Oh
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| Our man is feeling rather wonderful… |