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