From Under The Covers

<br>It`s 6.00am and even Big Ben<br>Is trying to get his head down for a kip<br>But no sooner is it down<br>And then it`s on with dressing gown<br>For this city very rarely loses grip<br>But I have a friend who`s never up by 10.00<br>He`s fast asleep with mouth open wide<br>He`s lost a lot of jobs, but he`s won a lot of friends<br>And he says to me, he cannot tell the time<br>It`s 7.00am and we`re coughing up the phlegm<br>Spitting out the taste of night before<br>And we`ll vomit and we`ll choke<br>Just to climb their tatty rope<br>Well this city has its charm, and its claw<br>And he`ll blame his clock<br>Or he`ll say he`s lost his socks<br>And they`ll tell you that he`s been bitten by a snake<br>His excuses are an art<br>>From the bottom of his heart<br>And he thinks of them whenenver he awakes<br>It`s 8.00am we`re on the road again<br>Racing for a placing at the top<br>And it says green for go<br>For the people in the know<br>But for the others all it says is red for stop<br>It`s cold and its damp<br>And they`ve dug him a grave<br>And the 10.15 merchants still in bed<br>And scrawled upon the headboard<br>For the whole wide world to see<br>"Died In The Arms Of Big Ted"