houve um tempo em que este grupo tinha piada: o senhor collins tinha cabelo e tocava bateria e o senhor gabriel cantava, representava e escrevia canções estranhas mas mágicas. 
nesses longínquos anos setenta - uma década que o bom gosto no vestir preferiu deliberadamente ignorar - saber do que se gostava (num guarda-roupa) era uma ciência secreta. 



it's one o'clock and time for lunch,
when the sun beats down and i lie on the bench
i can always hear them talk.

there's always been ethel:
"jacob, wake up! you've got to tidy your room now."
and then mister lewis:
"isn't it time that he was out on his own?"
over the garden wall, two little lovebirds - cuckoo to you!
keep them mowing blades sharp...

i know what i like, and i like what i know;
getting better in your wardrobe, stepping one beyond your show.

sunday night, mr farmer called, said:
"listen son, you're wasting your time; there's a future for you
in the fire escape trade. come up to town!"
but i remebered a voice from the past;
"gambling only pays when you're winning"
- i had to thank old miss mort for schooling a failure.
keep them mowing blades sharp...

i know what i like, and i like what i know;
getting better in your wardrobe, stepping one beyond your show.

when the sun beats down and i lie on the bench,
i can always hear them talk.
me, i'm just a lawnmower - you can tell me by the way i walk.