In the garden of England

Dead moles lie inside their holes

The deadend tunnels crumble

In the rain underfoot

Innit a shame

Can't you see them

Can't you see them

Roots can't hold them

Bugs console them

Can't you see them

Can't you see them

Roots can't hold them

Bugs console them

Can't you see them

Can't you see them

Can't you see them

Can't you see them

Repeat to fade

I fight with the handle of my little brown broom

I pull out the wires of the telephone

I hurt in the head and I hurt in the aching bone

Now I smash up the telly with remains of the broken phone

I fighting for the crust of the little brown loaf

I want it I want it I want it Give it to me

I give it you back when I finish the lunchtea

I lie in the road try to trip up the passing cars

Yes me and the hedgehog we bursting the tyres all day

As we roll down the highway towards the setting sun

I reflect on the life of the highwayman yum yum

Now I smash up the telly and what's left of the broken phone