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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 til I feel

a broom beneath my feet

or the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the street



Nothings 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 til 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

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 til I feel

a broom beneath my feet

or the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the street



Nothings 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 til 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

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