| Oh it’s the crooked leg, the crooked mile
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| The hotel lift and a menacing smile
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| The energy of an itinerant child
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| To catch a glimpse of Mr Oscar Wilde
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| Waterborn, Southend on Sea
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| Twisted, bent, disability
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| Lord Upminster, Bo Diddley and Richard the Third
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| With the most unroyal mouth that you’ve ever heard
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| He’s never gonna do it, oh he has and all
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| They’re smiling politely, but they’re really appalled
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| And it’s turned out oranges and lemons again
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| All three bells in a row
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| We’re in and out of the Eagle
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| And up and down the City Road
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| Sweet Gene Vincent, mean old Ronnie Kray
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| The low-slung slouch of the bird of prey
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| Trouser pocket boys in unromantic places
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| Cigarettes falling from their sallow faces
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| He’s never gonna do it, oh he has and all
|
| They’re smiling politely, but they’re really appalled
|
| And it’s turned out oranges and lemons again
|
| All three bells in a row
|
| We’re in and out of the Eagle
|
| And up and down the City Road
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| Lurking in the doorway of every town
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| Rough kids rally with their sorrows drowned
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| Burnt out faces and their ash-tray eyes
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| Up goes the cry through the perforated skies
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| He’s never gonna do it, oh he has and all
|
| They’re smiling politely, but they’re really appalled
|
| And it’s turned out oranges and lemons again
|
| All three bells in a row
|
| We’re in and out of the Eagle
|
| And up and down the City Road
|
| Turned out oranges and lemons again
|
| All three bells in a row
|
| We’re in and out of the Eagle
|
| And up and down the City Road |