Flora Greysteel - The Taxman Cometh | Текст песни

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• Flora Greysteel
• The Taxman Cometh

“Oranges and lemons” say the bells of St Clement’s
Make lemonade, but you can’t pay me in fruit
When the taxman is coming and I owe him money
Your smiles and your promises do me no good

For months you’ve been saying tomorrow’s the day
That you’ll pay me and all will turn out for the best
But the bills are amassing and tax is increasing
Banks are displaying far too much interest

“When will you pay me?” say the bells of old Bailey
They’re hungry and clamouring out for your blood
But I’ve had enough of your arrogant bluffing
When blustering won’t make the bureaucrats budge

Your sheepish smile is not convincing me
Of anything you choose to tell me
You say you are so much better than anyone else
You poor thing, your least sin is deluding yourself

Here comes the candle to light you to bed
Here’s come the statement, it’s written in red
Here comes the taxman to collect your debt
Here’s come the hangman to chop off your head

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