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about this song
Lyrics: Now conceptual and themed Once ancient underground courtyards sinking out of sight Play your king if there's not A grey hair on his head and not a sole grey cell in it The clientele have gone downhill Punters complain as you brush past So glad they made this bank a bar Careful who you look in the eye The meathead anthem's turned up high They made the Post Office a pub Divorcee queen lends a hand When they fall in love, they're in love for a night