who's gonna tell the orange

They're actually brown

Who's gonna mop up for grey

When they've painted the town

It's the news that everyone dreads

That we're no longer painting it red

That our gag's still funny

But they've opted for a different clown

You were great in the sixties

But we're gonna have to pull you down



Nothing like the sound of the shallow

Jumping in at the deep

Royalty's balloon coming down

Is a memorable shriek

Nothing quite like the sickening clout

Of the dive into pool drained out

You excelled as a queen

But you'll have to return the crown

You were great in the sixties

But we're gonna have to pull you down



Who's gonna tell the tall

They're beginning to shrink

Like who's gonna tell the swiss

They're no longer in sync

We'll have to get the maroon

In a separate counselling room

Say "it may be your washer

But you seem to be fading to pink"

Yesterday's ice cool

Doesn't take long to melt and sink



Who's gonna tell the cities

That are acting like towns

They're actually just a village

That the posh surrounds

The diplomatic answer

To your 25 stone dancer

Is your act's still great

But we can't keep changing a pound

You were queen in your day

But you're gonna have to give back the crown

You were great in the sixties

But we're gonna have to pull you down


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