Testo Portobello Road

Getting hung up all day on smilesWalking down portobello road for milesgreeting strangers in indian boots,yellow ties and old brown suitsgrowing old is my only dangercuckoo clocks, and plastic sockslampshades of old antique leathernothing looks weird, not even a beardor the boots made out of feathersi'll keep walking miles til i feela broom beneath my feetor the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the streetnothings the same if you see it againit'll be broken down to litteroh, and the clotheseveryone know that that dress will never fit herGetting hung up all day on smilesWalking down portobello road for milesgreeting strangers in indian boots,yellow ties and old brown suitsgrowing old is my only dangercuckoo clocks, and plastic sockslampshades of old antique leathernothing looks weird, not even a beardor the boots made out of feathersi'll keep walking miles til i feela broom beneath my feetor the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the streetnothings the same if you see it againit'll be broken down to litteroh, and the clotheseveryone know that that dress will never fit herGetting hung up all day on smilesWalking down portobello road for milesgreeting strangers in indian boots,yellow ties and old brown suitsgrowing old is my only adnger