From the dew-soaked hedge creeps a crawly caterpillar,
When the dawn begins to crack.
It`s all part of my autumn almanac.
Breeze blows leaves of a musty-coloured yellow,
So I sweep them in my 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...
Oh, my poor rheumatic back
Yes, yes, yes, it`s my autumn almanac.
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, all right.
I go to Blackpool for my holidays,
Sit in the open sunlight.
This is my street, and I`m never gonna to leave it,
And I`m always gonna to stay here
If I live to be ninety-nine,
`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, (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.