Lampshades of old antique leather
Nothing's the same if you see it again
Lampshades of old antique leather
Nothings the same if you see it again
Getting hung up all day on smiles
Walking down portobello road for miles
Nothing looks weird, not even a beard
I'll keep walking miles 'til I feel
A broom beneath my feet
Yellow ties and old brown suits
Everyone know that that dress will never fit her
Cuckoo clocks, and plastic socks
Getting hung up all day on smiles
Walking down portobello road for miles
It'll be broken down to litter
Or the boots made out of feathers
Or the boots made out of feathers
Greeting strangers in Indian boots
Yellow ties and old brown suits
A broom beneath my feet
Oh, and the clothes
Old stuffed bull across the street
Cuckoo clocks, and plastic socks
Old stuffed bull across the street
Greeting strangers in Indian boots
It'll be broken down to litter
Growing old is my only danger
Everyone know that that dress will never fit her
I'll keep walking miles 'til I feel
Yellow ties and old brown suits
Or the hawking eyes of an
Nothing looks weird, not even a beard
Greeting strangers in Indian boots
Or the hawking eyes of an
Growing old is my only danger
Oh, and the clothes
