Sitting in a sleazy snack bar sucking sickly sausage rolls Slipping down slowly, slipping down sideways, think I'll sign off the dole - 'cause
The fog on the Tyne is all mine, all mine The fog on the Tyne is all mine The fog on the Tyne is all mine, all mine The fog on the Tyne is all mine.
Could a Copper catch a crooked coffin-maker Could a Copper comprehend That a crooked coffin-maker's just an undertaker Who undertakes to be your friend, and
Tell it to tomorrow, today will take-its hour, To tell you what tonight will bring. Presently we'll have a pint or two together Everybody do their thing.
We can swing together, We can have a wee-wee, We can have a wet on the wall If someone tie a whisper That it's simple, sister, Slap them down and got it on their small, 'cause