| Dm | Am | Bb | F | C | Dm | C | F |
| Dm | Bb | F | C | |
| It's | six a. | m. and | even Big | Ben |
| Dm | Bb | F | C | |
| Is | trying to get his | head down for a | ki | p |
| Dm | Bb | |
| But no | sooner is it | down |
| F | C | |
| And then it's | on with dressing | gown |
| Dm | Bb | F | C | |
| For this | city very | rarely loses | gri | p |
| F | C | Bb | C | |
| But | I have a | friend who's | never up by | ten |
| F | C | Bb | C | |
| He's | fast as | leep with | mouth open | wide |
| F | C | Bb | C | |
| He's | lost a lot of | jobs, but he's | won a lot of | friends |
| F | C | Bb | C | |
| And he | says to | me, he | cannot tell the | time |
| It's seven a.m. and we're coughing up the phlegm |
| Spitting out the taste of night before |
| And we'll vomit and we'll choke |
| Just to climb their tatty rope |
| Well this city has its charm and its claw |
| And he'll blame his clock |
| Or he'll say he's lost his socks |
| And they'll tell you that he's been bitten by a snake |
| His excuses are an art |
| >From the bottom of his heart |
| And he thinks of them whenever he awakes |
| It's eight a.m. we're on the road again |
| Racing for a placing at the top |
| And it says green for go |
| For the people in the know |
| But for the others all it says is red for stop |
| It's cold and it's damp |
| And they've dug him a grave |
| And the ten fifteen merchant's still in bed |
| And scrawled upon the headboard |
| For the whole wide world to see is |
| "Died In The Arms Of Big Ted" |