Don't You Remember? Songtext
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Poor as Job meek as Moses hit and curse us for our pains;
we come through no fault of our own to take a little gaming change.
On the Liverpool packet by the name of Here Not We're
Disguised as Terrapins on the way back home to Baltimore.
It was Roses Roses all the way
Roses all along
The broad Atlantic when we use to sing this song.
From San Pedro to 16 St. lay the magic carpet down;
we come through no fault of our own to take a little gaming change.
On the Liverpool packet by the name of Here Not We're
Disguised as Terrapins on the way back home to Baltimore.
It was Roses Roses all the way
Roses all along
The broad Atlantic when we use to sing this song.
From San Pedro to 16 St. lay the magic carpet down;
We're heading off at random in to weave a bower;
trellis work may haply flower if we don't give up in time.
So lock us in when you start closing and we might lift your chairs up.
It was Roses Roses all the way
Roses all along
The broad Atlantic when we used to chant this chant.
On the double Tenerife unlock brandy cabinet;
Were Here Not's come especially to be shown a good time.
Out of tune the piano and ready the wheelchairs;
Out of tune the piano tell us you miss me.
I remember walking free and clear down the Seine-Side;
Liverpool packet's seventeen south of Cape Clear.
I was thinking of some time on the little We're Not Here,
Singing six and twenty sundays since last we saw land.
It was Roses Roses all the way loafing along.
The broad Atlantic when we used to...
trellis work may haply flower if we don't give up in time.
So lock us in when you start closing and we might lift your chairs up.
It was Roses Roses all the way
Roses all along
The broad Atlantic when we used to chant this chant.
On the double Tenerife unlock brandy cabinet;
Were Here Not's come especially to be shown a good time.
Out of tune the piano and ready the wheelchairs;
Out of tune the piano tell us you miss me.
I remember walking free and clear down the Seine-Side;
Liverpool packet's seventeen south of Cape Clear.
I was thinking of some time on the little We're Not Here,
Singing six and twenty sundays since last we saw land.
It was Roses Roses all the way loafing along.
The broad Atlantic when we used to...
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