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