Getting hung up all day on smiles Walking down Portobello road for miles Greeting strangers in Indian boots, Yellow ties and old brown suits Growing old is my only danger
Cuckoo clocks and plastic socks Lampshades of old antique leather Nothing looks weird, not even a beard Or the boots made out of feathers
I'll keep walking miles till I feel A broom beneath my feet Or the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the street
Nothing's the same if you see it again It'll be broken down to litter Oh, and the clothes Everyone know that that dress will never fit her
Getting hung up all day on smiles Walking down Portobello road for miles Greeting strangers in Indian boots, Yellow ties and old brown suits Growing old is my only danger
Cuckoo clocks and plastic socks Lampshades of old antique leather Nothing looks weird, not even a beard Or the boots made out of feathers
I'll keep walking miles till I feel A broom beneath my feet Or the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the street
Nothing's the same if you see it again It'll be broken down to litter Oh, and the clothes Everyone know that that dress will never fit her
Getting hung up all day on smiles Walking down Portobello road for miles Greeting strangers in Indian boots, Yellow ties and old brown suits Growing old is my only dangerTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
