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 whenever 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"