As the temperature drops on the drunks out in Clapham
I turn on my bx and it's like punk never happened
The community's charged up and the West End's alight
And it's Jimmy bloody Tarbuck on a Saturday night
And I'm sick to the back teeth, front teeth and tonsils
Of hit making factories and kids sniffing Ronseal
The run down, the hard up and the national health
And it's Jimmy bloody Tarbuck on a Sunday as well
Friends, Romans, country fans
If you're happy and you know it
You can clap your hands and say yeah!
Yes sir no sir three bags full of newspaper
Sleeping by the greengrocers over by the undertakers
Died in a house fire mummy was at the bakers
Buying broken biscuits, digestives and iced wafers
I've broken my dentures, got senile dementure
And I'm losing my barnet
I'm an alternative Alf Garnett