We arrived in December and London was cold So we stayed in the bars along Charring cross road We never saw nothing but brass taps and oak Kept a shine on the bar with the sleeves of our coats
You'll have to excuse me I'm not at my best I've been gone for a month, I been drunk since I left These so called vacations won't soon be my death I'm so sick of the drink, I need home for a rest
Easton station the train journeyed north And in the buffet car we lurched back and forth Passed odd crooked dykes and through Yorkshire's green field We where flung into dance as the train jigged and reeled
You'll have to excuse me I'm not at my best I've been gone for a month, I been drunk since I left These so called vacations won't soon be my death I'm so sick of the drink, I need home for a rest
By the light of the moon she'd drift through the streets A rare old perfume so seductive and sweet She teased us and flirt as the pubs all closed down Then walk us on home and deny us a round
You'll have to excuse me I'm not at my best I've been gone for a month, I been drunk since I left These so called vacations won't soon be my death I'm so sick of the drink, I need home for a rest
The gas heater's empty, it's damp as a tomb And the spirits we drank are now ghosts in the room I'm knackered again, come on sleep take me soon And don't lift up my head till the twelve bells of noon
Chorus outTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
