Oh, my old man’s a dustman
He wears a dustman’s hat
He wears cor blimey trousers
And he lives in a council flat
He looks a proper narner
In his great big hob nailed boots
He’s got such a job to pull em up
That he calls them daisy roots
Some folks give tips at Christmas
And some of them forget
So when he picks their bins up
He spills some on the steps
Now one old man got nasty
And to the council wrote
Next time my old man went ’round there
He punched him up the throat.
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Unfortunately I don’t know any good bars round there.