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 knows
   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 knows
   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