Down on the farm, where the wheat fields wave like the sea,
They're herding their cattle to pasture.
Inviting the vicar to tea, but it's really his daughter they're after.
The squire's been at it again... and again... and again.....
Down on the streets they're opening their doors to the world,
Ringing cash register changes,
Catching the eye of the crowd
To greet them as friends amongst strangers
With potions and tinctures and creams
To ward off unmentionable things.
'Well... the city air is eating your face....' ''Ere, Misses, d'you know how many germs there are in this rug?'
'Germs... germs!... GERMS!' 'You hair could DIE at any moment!'
'Excuse me, Sir, could you tell me the way to the Underground?'
'I'm a stranger meself but I'll try.'
'Would you let Jesus into your life insurance without any ties?'
'Nice talking, but now I must fly....'