Getting hung up all day on smiles 

Walking down portobello road for miles 

Greeting strangers in indian boots, 

yellow ties and old brown suits 

Growing old is my only danger 

  

Cuckoo clocks, and plastic socks 

Lampshades of old antique leather 

Nothing looks weird, not even a beard 

or the boots made out of feathers 

  

I'll keep walking miles til I feel 

a broom beneath my feet 

or the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the street 

  

Nothings the same if you see it again 

it'll be broken down to litter 

Oh, and the clothes 

everyone know that that dress will never fit her 

  

Getting hung up all day on smiles 

Walking down portobello road for miles 

Greeting strangers in indian boots, 

yellow ties and old brown suits 

Growing old is my only danger 

  

Cuckoo clocks, and plastic socks 

Lampshades of old antique leather 

Nothing looks weird, not even a beard 

or the boots made out of feathers 

  

I'll keep walking miles til I feel 

a broom beneath my feet 

or the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the street 

  

Nothing's the same if you see it again 

It'll be broken down to litter 

Oh, and the clothes 

everyone know that that dress will never fit her 

  

Getting hung up all day on smiles 

Walking down portobello road for miles 

Greeting strangers in indian boots, 

yellow ties and old brown suits 

Growing old is my only danger