So I sweep them in my sack, yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac
La la la la, oh my autumn almanac
La la la la, oh my autumn almanac
La la la la, oh my poor rheumatic back
This is my street and I'm never gonna to leave it
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes
I like my football on a Saturday
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac
Bop bop bop bop bop, whoa
Sit in the open sunlight
Buttered currant buns, can't compensate
For lack of sun because the summer's all gone
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac
And I'm always gonna to stay here if I live to be ninety-nine
And I can't get away because it's calling me, come on home
Hear it calling me, come on home
Hiding from the weather, tea and toasted
Friday evenings, people get together
Breeze blows leaves of a musty-colored yellow
Roast beef on Sundays, all right
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac
La la la la, oh my autumn almanac
'Cause all the people I meet, seem to come from my street
I go to Blackpool for my holidays