| He’s got a flat, it’s just south of the river |
| A wipe clean kitchen |
| White as an American smile |
| And wide as an American child |
| He spends his weekends talking to his mother |
| About himself and how he’s got nobody to talk to (Boohoo now) |
| He’s got nobody at all |
| I guess he can’t get along, get along, get along |
| I guess he can’t get along, get along, get on |
| He’s got a flat, it’s one foot on the ladder |
| A new build, red brick |
| 50 feet of communal grass |
| And you can’t put a price on that |
| Loves culture, sees what he’s able |
| Spends his evenings playing house of pain on his hands |
| And praying there’s no pain when he lands |
| I guess he can’t get along, get along, get along |
| I guess he can’t get along, get along, get on |
| It means nothing at all |
| Until the key’s in the door |
| And the deed’s in his name |
| And he’s changing every lock in the place |
| And at the root of it all |
| Is his reluctance to fall |
| And it’s always the same |
| 50 minutes into work |
| And he just keeps walking |
| One foot then the other |
| Beer or wine? |
| I don’t know why he bothers |
| It’s all the same |
| And there’s not an easy laugh |
| And he wants tennis courts |
| Swimming pools |
| Water’s warm at the Cote d’Azur |
| Well he dreams of yachts |
| Well quite a lot for him |
| I guess he can’t get along, get along |
| Too up, too down, too busy to call |
| I guess he can’t get along, get along |
| Well the smile above the Windsor seems wrong |
| I guess he can’t get along, get along, get along |