(Difford/Tilbrook)
|
|
With her hair up in his fingers
|
The fish and chips smell lingers
|
Under amber streetlamps
|
She holds the law in her hands
|
The moistness of the damp night
|
Falls silent through the lamplight
|
Although she's only fourteen
|
She really knows her courting
|
And up the railway sidings
|
There's him and her
|
They're lying
|
Hand in hand they whisper
|
You're my missus and I'm your mister
|
The moon as white and virgin
|
And she was on the turning
|
Remember your first nibble
|
When best friends were so little
|
|
They really trooped the colours
|
When walking with each other
|
And all her mates would giggle
|
As ladylike she'd wiggle
|
All along the high street
|
They'd splash out on an ice cream
|
He'd sometimes really treat her
|
But he'd done his mother's meter
|
|
Well he went off to Borstal
|
He said that he was forced to
|
Rob the flats of Hi Fi's
|
Cuz she was ill
|
And she would cry
|
Each morning she got sicker
|
Her mother sometimes hit her
|
If she'd have known the story
|
She would have been so sorry
|
|
He received a letter and admitted it
|
There was nothing else to do but get rid of it
|
Lonely in his dormitory
|
He'd sit and stare
|
If this is for real
|
And is it really fair
|
|
Summer came so they went
|
Down to the coast in his tent
|
She cooked upon his primus
|
And sampled local cider
|
She told him in his rucksack
|
I think I want that chance back
|
To be perhaps the one who
|
Will forever love you
|
|
-----------------
|
Vicky Verky
|
| Squeeze |
