The Kinks - Autumn almanac
Tekst en muziek: Ray Davies
(1967)






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



Lala laa laa laa lala lala lala lala
Oh, my poor rheumatic back
Yes, yes, yes, it’s my autumn almanac
Laa laa laa lala lala lala lala
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, it’s my autumn almanac



I like my football on a Saturday
Roast beef on Sunday’s all right
I go to Blackpool for my holidays
Sit in the open sunlight



This is my street and I’m never gonna leave it
And I’m always gonna 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



Lala laa laa laa lala lala lala lala
Oh, my autumn Armagnac
Yes, yes, yes, it’s my autumn almanac
Laa laa laa lala lala lala lala
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes



Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa
Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa
Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa
Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa
Yes
Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa
Yes
Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa
Yes
Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa
Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, whoa









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