Factory chimney cough yellow smoke Trucks and trains go rumbling Throw down your key from your window high Your man's out drinking Neighbours thinking evil Lead by the the lights of your electric fire Your grey slips falls around your feet And across the sheet your nut brown curls go tumbling
We don't have long till he comes home from the bar I'll be gone a week of sundays Meet me by the bronze horse or the clock tower Try to come Friday, Saturday maybe Don't cry now you'll freak the baby