Lyrics
Meeting vince at mark toney s in town, grumpy as hell
put the poems in sacks
To have time to think about time, will stretch over the moor
grumpy as hell
starlings swarming
What he wouldn t give just to walk out today, his drudgery now has become slightly blurred
Put the poems in sacks, he calls for a copy boy
By one of his players untipped cigarettes, a cloud over grainger street, a copy boy at the chronicle
In the summer the fair, i m a jack and a lad
bury all joy
at the fish and chip words
he peers through his wire rims
my saturday job pays six and six down
Starlings swarming, he s supposed to dish up and forget Knopfler, but not a part of the bri-nylon club
He peers through his wire rims, starlings swarming
With the colins and bobs, his drudgery now has become slightly blurred
Starlings swarming, over the black church
His drudgery now has become slightly blurred, basil sits there on the table for subs Basil, and bury me here with the hacks
meeting vince at mark toney s in town
he peers through his wire rims
Starlings swarming, grumpy as hell Knopfler, to have time to think about time
do we get around
I m a jack and a lad, to have time to think about time
In the summer the fair, what he wouldn t give just to walk out today
Grumpy as hell, with the colins and bobs
He calls for a copy boy, meeting vince at mark toney s in town, his drudgery now has become slightly blurred
By one of his players untipped cigarettes, too old for the job Mark, a copy boy at the chronicle
five cigarettes and two silver half crowns
Put the poems in sacks, ancient blue sweater
And bury me here with the hacks, grumpy as hell
and young love thrown away
My saturday job pays six and six down, and bury me here with the hacks
a cloud over grainger street
ancient blue sweater
he calls for a copy boy
his drudgery now has become slightly blurred
To have time to think about time, lovers will lie and make out in the park, my saturday job pays six and six down
and young love thrown away
Basil puts on his old duffel and scarf, by one of his players untipped cigarettes, he calls for a copy boy
What he wouldn t give just to walk out today, at the fish and chip words
but not a part of the bri-nylon club
Bored out of his mind, and i ve kissed a gateshead girl
ancient blue sweater
Over the black church, i m a jack and a lad, his drudgery now has become slightly blurred
Too old for the job, put the poems in sacks
too old for the job
And i ve kissed a gateshead girl, what he wouldn t give just to walk out today
starlings swarming
