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letra de where's my shirt - ken dodd

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well it all began in the year of one
when adam was the first man
and a girl called eve, so we believe
was made to be his woman
she led him up the garden of eden, by a tree
then she offered him her apple
and he cried out suddenly (eee-eeee-eeeee)

spoken (liverpool accent):
where’s me shirt?
where’s me shirt?

i feel a proper twazzer without me shirt
i’ve got me tickling-tackle and me nicky-nocky-noo
but i must confess i feel undressed
like this, in front of you

spoken (liverpool accent):
where’s me shirt?
i can’t find me shirt anywhere. it’s twenty-five past five
in the garden of eden and i can’t find me shirt. fancy
leaving me in a garden with no shirt on, like this. look
at all these creepy-crawly things here. ooh, look, there’s
a serpent. go ‘way. go ‘way you nasty old serpent. go on,
shoo! go on, shoo!

since the days of old, we’ve all been told
of men like bonaperte
his great retreat and his first defeat
was the thing that broke his heart
he stuck just outside moscow and then made history
he stuck his hand inside his coat
and cried out bitterly (eee-eeee-eeeee)

spoken (liverpool accent):
where’s me shirt?
where’s me shirt?

i can’t go on like zis, wizout my shirt
i’ve had my tickle-tonic on my nicky-nocky-nee
but i just can’t go through all this snow
without a shirt on me

spoken (liverpool accent):
where’s me shirt?
oh, sacre blue. sacre flippin’ blue, where’s me shirt? by
jove, t’ain’t ‘alf frosty. ooh, ooh, this tent isn’t ‘alf
drafty. i don’t know where the draft’s comin’ from, but i
know where it’s goin’ to.

back in eighty-one, in the mid-day sun
in tombstone, one september
wyatt earp was due to go into
a gunfight he’d remember
the clanton’s and mclourys started firin’ suddenly
as the gunsmoke cleared and the twonsfolk cheered
wyatt earp said quietly (eee-eeee-eeeee)

spoken (liverpool accent):
where’s me shirt?
where’s me shirt?

i feel a proper twit without me shirt
i’ve lost me ticklin’-tackle and me nicky-nocky-nee
but i feel a twerp, me wyatt earp
with my shirt shot off o’ me

spoken (liverpool accent):
ere, where’s me shirt?
where’s me gunfightin’ shirt? ooh, i say, here comes the
indians. ‘ere, you be careful where you’re shootin’ those
arrows. where’s me shirt? where’s me shir… i can’t find
me shirt anywhere. d’you know, i’m sure i had it when i
came out. where’s me shirt?

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