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