Mother's in the kitchen steaming up the window panes
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Smell of boiling cabbage comes up from an open drain
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But no amount of scrubbing could ever shift a gravy stain
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Washaway washaway washerette
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Washaway washaway every dirty stain you get
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Streets lay deserted
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No one feels exerted
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Sat on their couches
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With loose change in their pouches
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They couldn't spend it if they tried
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In comes Mr Softee
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Dressed up like and ice cream cone
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Ringing for his supper
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Heading for a stately home
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But a thousand Yorkshire puddings
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Couldn't make his business boom
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See how they wander
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To kill time in droves they squander
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Money in centres
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That feed on the mind, oh bother
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It just gets you down
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Washaway washaway washerette
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Business as usual at the uptown launderette
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Washaway washaway the dirt
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Wash it
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Washaway the dirt
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-----------------
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Washaway
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| XTC |
