| In Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs
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| Of every head he’s had the pleasure to know
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| And all the people that come and go
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| Stop and say hello
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| On the corner is a banker with a motorcar
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| The little children laugh at him behind his back
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| And the banker never wears a mac
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| In the pouring rain
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| Very strange
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| Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
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| There beneath the blue suburban skies
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| I sit and meanwhile back
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| In Penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass
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| And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen
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| He likes to keep his fire engine clean
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| It’s a clean machine
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| Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
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| Four of fish and finger pies
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| In summer, meanwhile back
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| Behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout
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| A pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray
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| And though she feels as if she’s in a play
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| She is anyway
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| In Penny Lane the barber shaves another customer
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| We see the banker sitting, waiting for a trim
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| And then the fireman rushes in
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| From the pouring rain
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| Very strange
|
| Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
|
| There beneath the blue suburban skies
|
| I sit, and meanwhile back
|
| Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
|
| There beneath the blue suburban skies
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| Penny Lane |