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In Cane-Shum town we have a shop perched high upon a hill
It sells no wares there are no tills
Its staff are all ‘old-bill’.
A bit run down and tatty now the shop’s a right old state
So Bob the builder and his mates
Are there, paid from our rates.
But when their job of work is done; the nick has been restored
Who will be there to take our calls?
What staff can we afford?
Sod all, in fact and none at night, I have a sneaking hunch
And none from twelve till one no doubt;
She slips out for her lunch.
Fear not we’re told, we’ve thought of that, our hearts aren’t made of stone,
Upon the wall we have installed
A yellow telephone!
So when you need a friendly face to save you from your dread
Go to the nick where you will find
A telephone instead!
And if you think you’ll get to hear a friendly voice, beware,
That bloody yellow telephone
It goes to God knows where.
You’ve got your nice new nick now, not the old one that was shit,
So do the decent thing for us
PUT SOMEBODY IN IT!