In the earliest days of my shoplifting career

You could safely say I was filled with fear.

It was nail biting work from the very start

But several quick sucesses soon gave me heart.

After a while I could pick or nick or steal

Some shirts some trousers and a few lps.

No-one ever stopped methey didn't seem to care.

It sometimes seemed to me that there was no-one there.



Then a fine summers day my mates and me

Set off down the westend on our usual spree.

Things were as normal for an hour or so

Then my nimble hands were a bit too slow.

Two store detectives made a fast approach

One grabbed my jacket (you're nicked!)

The other grabbed my throat.

So they caught me at lastone said with joy:

"you'll have to do some timemy light fingered boy!"



If only I'd remembered my common sense

They captured me red-handed with evidence.

If I go to the manager and say I'm sorry

Maybe he'll forgive me for my youthful folly.



But what will me social worker say

If I don't come home today? 

He'll give me a clout!

What if they don't let me out? 

I told him I'm on me own!

Don't they understand? 

I'm from a broken home!



I'll tell them I'm the product of a broken home

And I always went out on my own.

Was it too late to say I'd pay

And I'll never steal again 'till the end of my days? 

Because I have no friends to call as such

Money and posessions I did not have much

So I started to steal in order to get by.

The quickness of the hand deceives the eye.

Deceives the eye the eye the eye...