Peter Brophy Don´t Care

Your nose is in your pipe, but you don't care

Your tattered tweeds and walking cane

All feel real

The monocled face with the knowing eyes

See it all go by

But you don't care

You dance your pants and sing with the Jew

Who knows your face from a different place

You don't care

You just don't care

Bow down, in out, feeling fine

Drinking bottles of American wine

You don't care

You just don't care

Lift the cracked old cup up to your mouth

And toast the feet that walk the street

From north to south

Walking kitten on a leash

A smile, a bow, a quick how-now brown cow

You don't care if the vicar's hair is falling out

He's still got a beer pout

You don't care

You just don't care

Brown hot-cross buns in the bakery window having fun

With the sausage roll that's underdone

You don't care... etc