From the dew soaked hedge creeps a crawly catapillar,
When the dawn begins to crack,
It's all part of my autumn almanac,
The breeze blows leaves of a musty coloured yellow,
So I sweep 'em in m' sack,
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac
Friday evenings people get together,
Hiding from the weather,
Tea and toasted buttered currant buns,
Can't compensate for lack of sun,
Because the summer's all gone
La, la-la! La, la, la, la-la!
La-la, la, la, la-la!
Oh, my poor rheumatic back,
Yes, yes, yes, its my autumn almanac,
La, la, la, la-la! La-la, la, la, la-la!
Oh, my autumn almanac,
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac
I like my football on a Saturday,
Roast beef on Sundays, alright!
I go to Blackpool for my holidays,
Sit in the open sunlight!
This is my street,
and I'm never gonna leave it,
And I'm always gonna stay here,
If I live to be ninetynine,
'Cause all the people I meet.
Seem to come from my street,
And I can't get away,
Because it's calling me, come on home,
Hear it calling me, so come on home
La-la-la-la
Oh, my autumn Armagnac
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac
La-la-la-la
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes
Bop-bop-bopm-bop-bop, whoa!
Bop-bop-bopm-bop-bop, whoa!