From the dew-soaked hedge creeps a crawly caterpillar,
When the dawn begins to crack.
It's all part of my autumn almanac.
Breeze blows leaves of a musty[mustard?]-coloured yellow,
So i sweep them in my sack.
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
Friday evenings, people get together,
Hiding from the weather.
Tea and toasted, bu*tered currant buns
Can't compensate for lack of sun,
Because the summer's all gone.
La-la-la-la...
Oh, my poor rheumatic back
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
La-la-la-la...
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
I like my football on a saturday,
Roast beef on sundays, all right.
I go to blackpool for my holidays,
Sit in the open sunlight.
This is my street, and i'm never gonna to leave it,
And i'm always gonna to stay here
If i live to be ninety-nine,
'cause all the people i meet
Seem to come from my street
And i can't get away,
Because it's calling me, (come on home)
Hear it calling me, (come on home)
La-la-la-la...
Oh, my autumn armagnac
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
La-la-la-la...
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
Bop-bop-bopm-bop-bop, whoa!
Bop-bop-bopm-bop-bop, whoa!
(etc.)