Letras
Should the President-elect,
Elect to beckon in his debts,
Should the Westminster Gazette,
Collect a single cigarette,
Sparks a monumental blaze,
That works the fire brigade for days,
Takes the Chinatown in hand,
Covers Theatreland in sand,
Crimson buckets in the wings...
I will likely be here,
I will likely be here,
I will likely be here...
Thinking it down.
If the gales blow in from Wales,
And raise the Scotsman off its rails,
Or if Rafael Nadal diverts the K&A canal,
Floods the flats of Salisbury Plain,
And the Armada sails from Spain,
Trains its cannons on the town,
And we are all condemned to drown,
If someone doesn't save the day...
I will likely be here,
I will likely be here,
I will likely be here...
Thinking it down.
When the gutters run with butter,
From the fenders of the cars,
When the stratosphere is clear,
to hear the caterwauling stars,
You will know just where to find me,
By the sign above my door,
Says the man who used to change,
Will not be changing anymore,
So if you ever need to talk...
I will likely be here,
I will likely be here,
I will likely be here,
Thinking it down.