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 eye see it all go by
But you don't care.
You dance, you prance and sing with the jew,
Who knows your face from a different place

But you don't care, you just don't care.
Found down and out feeling fine,
Drinking bottles of American wine
You don't care, you just don't care.


Lift the cracked old cup to your mouth
And toast the feet that walk the street
>From North to South.
Walking kitten on a leash you 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 to be about,
You don't care, you just don't care.
Brown hot cross buns in the bakery window
Having fun with the sausage roll
It's underdone.

You don't care, you don't care,
You don't care, you don't care...

Repeat to fade.