The sun never shine on the poor

The urchins are writhing around in the mud,

Like eels playing tag in a barrel

The old Sally Army sound mournful and sweet

As they play an old Chrissmassy carol;

The world is as black as a dark night in hell

What kind of a place can this be?

Old people like hermit crabs run into doorways

All fearing to say, do you feel a downtrodden as me?

Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-Ling, the Devil he leans on your bell,

The future looks black as before

And the sun never shines, the sun never shines on the poor

The rich man he dreams of his gold and his plate

And his house and his car and his women,

The poor man he dreams of his one-roomed estate

And his wage-packet short by one shilling

The last penny falls through a hole in your jeans,

Now ain't that the way when you're down?

Just walking in circles for the rest of your life,

And feeling so low that your chin scrapes along the ground

Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-Ling, the Devil he leans on your bell,

The future looks black as before

And the sun never shines, the sun never shines on the poor

Now some of the people are poor in the purse

They don't have the cash at the read

And some of the people are crippled and lame

They can never stand up true and steady

And some of the people are poor in the head

Like the simpleton fools that you see

But most of the people are poor in the heart

It's the worst kind of poor, it's the worst kind of poor you can be

Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-Ling, the Devil he leans on your bell,

The future looks black as before

And the sun never shines, oh the sun never shines on the poor