From the dew-soaked hedge creeps a crawly caterpillar,
When the dawn begins to crack.
It´s all part of my autumn almanac.
Breeze blows leaves of a musty-coloured yellow,
So I sweep them in my sack.
Yes, yes, yes, it´s my autumn almanac.

Friday evenings, people get together,
Hiding from the weather.
Tea and toasted, buttered currant buns
Can´t compensate for lack of sun,
Because the summer´s all gone.

La-la-la-la...
Oh, my poor rheumatic back
Yes, yes, yes, it´s my autumn almanac.
La-la-la-la...
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, it´s my autumn almanac.

I like my football on a Saturday,
Roast beef on Sundays, all right.
I go to Blackpool for my holidays,
Sit in the open sunlight.

This is my street, and I´m never gonna to leave it,
And I´m always gonna to stay here
If I live to be ninety-nine,
´Cause all the people I meet
Seem to come from my street
And I can´t get away,
Because it´s calling me, (come on home)
Hear it calling me, (come on home)

La-la-la-la...
Oh, my autumn Armagnac
Yes, yes, yes, it´s my autumn almanac.
La-la-la-la...
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

Bop-bop-bopm-bop-bop, whoa!
Bop-bop-bopm-bop-bop, whoa!
[etc.]