Up the little gravel path

Mister Green, the next door neighbour of mine,
He lives at number eight, I live at number nine.
From my bedroom window I can see
All that Mister Green does without him seeing me
From his little villa every night
Up the west heel Gailey Rome
When they close the pubs,
All the café's and the clubs
Like a good boy he comes home

Up the little gravel path sailing,
Clinging to the garden railing
Same old knocker, same old door
Same old Missus and the same old jaw
Two steps forward and three steps back,
Then you'll hear him  whisper low
"There's no place like home
When there's nowhere else to go"

Down the Square he comes, defiant and gay,
Singing Rule Britannia all the way
Backward, forward, on towards goal,
Nodding to the milkman, who swears he's up the pole
All the patriotic ditties he sings
And the birds join in the song
His wife up above,
Waiting for her turtle dove,
Sees the night bird stroll along...

Green will give his door a gentle rat tat
Soon after that he stretched out on the mat
Missis Greens out flanked him with the broom
Wrapt up in the blankets next morning in his room
"No more ginger ales and stopping out late"
To his wife I hear him roar
His doctor puts him right; 
Home he comes the following night
on the same old stunt once more…