Well we’re here
We’re at the common again
Smoked six of the ten fags that
I only bought an hour ago

Said well I
I like the look of your shoes
I like the way that your face looks when
I’m arguing with you

And so when, when we all grow old
I hope this song will remind you that
I’m not half as bad as bad as what
You’ve been told

And when I knock
At one hundred and two
And I see your pyjamas
I can’t stop smiling at you

And that’s why when
We’re at the common again
I’ve been pouring my heart out
Towards your optimistic grin

Said well I, I
I like the cut of your jib
I like the way that your face looks
When you’re yapping on about him

But on this shirt
I found your smell
And I just sat there for ages
Contemplating what to do with myself

Called you up
At one hundred and two
We just sat there for ages
Talking about that boy
What was getting onto you
You