|
In Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs |
|
Of every head he's had the pleasure to know |
|
And all the people that come and go |
|
Stop and say hello |
|
On the corner is a banker with a motorcar |
|
The little children laugh at him behind his back |
|
And the banker never wears a mack |
|
In the pouring rain, very strange |
|
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes |
|
There beneath the blue suburban skies |
|
I sit, and meanwhile back |
|
In Penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass |
|
And in his pocket is a portrait of the queen |
|
He likes to keep his fire engine clean |
|
It's a clean machine |
|
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes |
|
A four of fish and finger pies |
|
In summer, meanwhile back |
|
Behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout |
|
The pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray |
|
And though she feels as if she's in a play |
|
She is anyway |
|
In Penny Lane the barber shaves another customer |
|
We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim |
|
And then the fireman rushes in |
|
From the pouring rain, very strange |
|
Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes |
|
There beneath the blue suburban skies |
|
I sit, and meanwhile back |
|
Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes |
|
There beneath the blue suburban skies |
|
Penny Lane |