Sitting in a sleazy snack-bar sucking sickly sausage rolls
Slipping down slowly, slipping down sideways,
think I'll sign off the dole - 'cause
CHORUS:
The fog on the Tyne is all mine, all mine,
The fog on the Tyne is all mine
The fog on the Tyne is all mine, all mine,
The fog on the Tyne is all mine.
Could a Copper catch a crooked coffin-maker,
Could a Copper comprehend
That a crooked coffin-maker's just an undertaker
Who undertakes to be your friend, and
REPEAT CHORUS
Tell it to tomorrow, today will take its time,
To tell you what tonight will bring.
Presently we'll have a pint or two together
Everybody do their thing.
We can swing together,
We can have a wee-wee,
We can have a wet on the wall
If someone slips a whisper
That it's simple, sister,
Slap them down and slap it on their smalls, 'cause
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