| Now people always come around
|
| But they don’t always stick around
|
| I run a comb across my head
|
| I wish my hair would settle down
|
| The clock I see is running slow
|
| The batteries are running low
|
| I run a comb across my head
|
| And it feels the same like it did before
|
| You’re just another first footer across my door
|
| And little less care (hair?) than I had last year
|
| But it doesn’t worry me because I
|
| I have no fear
|
| Here
|
| The car I see is painted black
|
| I’m steering (staring) at the driver’s back
|
| He runs a comb across his head
|
| And it feels the same like it did before
|
| You’re just another fresh fare across his door
|
| And little less care than he had last year
|
| But it doesn’t worry him because he
|
| He has no fear
|
| Here, here
|
| Now people always come around
|
| But they don’t always stick around
|
| They run a comb across your head
|
| I wish my hair would settle down
|
| The clock I see is running slow
|
| We’ve only got three years to go
|
| We run our combs across our heads
|
| And it feels the same like it did before
|
| You’re just another first footer across the door
|
| And little less care than we took last year
|
| But it doesn’t worry us because we
|
| We have no fear
|
| Here
|
| Have we
|
| We have no fear
|
| Have we
|
| We have no fear |