It's 6.00am and even Big Ben
   Is trying to get his head down for a kip
   But no sooner is it down
   And then it's on with dressing gown
   For this city very rarely loses grip
  
   But I have a friend who's never up by 10.00
   He's fast asleep with mouth open wide
   He's lost a lot of jobs, but he's won a lot of friends
   And he says to me, he cannot tell the time
  
   It's 7.00am and we're coughing up the phlegm
   Spitting out the taste of night before
   And we'll vomit and we'll choke
   Just to climb their tatty rope
   Well this city has its charm, and its claw
  
   And he'll blame his clock
   Or he'll say he's lost his socks
   And they'll tell you that he's been bitten by a snake
   His excuses are an art
   From the bottom of his heart
   And he thinks of them whenenver he awakes
  
   It's 8.00am we're on the road again
   Racing for a placing at the top
   And it says green for go
   For the people in the know
   But for the others all it says is red for stop
  
   It's cold and its damp
   And they've dug him a grave
   And the 10.15 merchants still in bed
   And scrawled upon the headboard
   For the whole wide world to see
   "Died In The Arms Of Big Ted"