Peter Brophy Don't Care

Your nose is in your pipe but you don’t care
Your tattered tweeds and walking cane
All feel real
The monocled face with the knowing eye see it all go by
But you don’t care
You dance, you prance and sing with the jew
Who knows your face from a different place
But you don’t care, you just don’t care
Found down and out feeling fine
Drinking bottles of American wine
You don’t care, you just don’t care
Lift the cracked old cup to your mouth
And toast the feet that walk the street
From North to South
Walking kitten on a leash you smile
A bow, a quick «how now brown cow»
You don’t care if the vicar’s hair is falling out
He’s still got to be about
You don’t care, you just don’t care
Brown hot cross buns in the bakery window
Having fun with the sausage roll
It’s underdone
You don’t care, you don’t care
You don’t care, you don’t care…
Repeat to fade