Lyrics
In the earliest days of my shoplifting career,
In the beginning of my shoplifting experience,
You could safely say I was filled with fear.
I was filled with fear.
It was nail biting work from the very start,
Shoplifting was nervewracking from the start,
But several quick successes soon gave me heart.
But early successes boosted my confidence.
After a while I could pick or nick or steal,
Over time, I could steal various items,
Some shirts some trousers and a few LPs.
Including shirts, trousers, and LPs.
No-one ever stopped me, they didn't seem to care.
No one stopped me; it seemed like no one cared.
It sometimes seemed to me that there was no-one there.
Sometimes, it felt like I was unnoticed.
Then a fine summers day my mates and me,
On a summer day, my friends and I went on a spree,
Set off down the westend on our usual spree.
Normal for an hour until I got caught.
Things were as normal for an hour or so,
Things were usual for a while,
Then my nimble hands were a bit too slow.
Until I was too slow and caught.
Two store detectives made a fast approach,
Store detectives approached quickly,
One grabbed my jacket (you're nicked!)
Grabbing my jacket with an arrest announcement.
The other grabbed my throat.
The other grabbed my throat, securing the capture.
So they caught me at last, one said with joy:
Caught with joy, one detective declared,
"You'll have to do some time, my light fingered boy!"
Informing that I would face consequences.
If only I'd remembered my common sense,
If only I had used common sense,
They captured me red-handed with evidence.
I was caught with undeniable evidence.
If I go to the manager and say I'm sorry,
If I apologize to the manager,
Maybe he'll forgive me for my youthful folly.
Maybe forgiveness for youthful mistakes.
But what will me social worker say,
Concerns about what my social worker will say,
If I don't come home today?
If I don't return home today.
He'll give me a clout!
Fear of physical punishment from the social worker.
What if they don't let me out?
Worries about not being released.
I told him I'm on me own!
Explaining that I'm on my own.
Don't they understand?
Frustration at not being understood.
I'm from a broken home!
Emphasizing my background of a broken home.
I'll tell them I'm the product of a broken home,
Stating that I'm a product of a broken home,
And I always went out on my own.
Always going out alone.
Was it too late to say I'd pay,
Wondering if it's too late to promise payment,
And I'll never steal again 'till the end of my days?
Pledging to never steal again.
Because I have no friends to call as such,
Explaining the lack of true friends,
Money and posessions I did not have much,
Due to a scarcity of money and possessions.
So I started to steal in order to get by.
Stealing to survive in the absence of resources.
The quickness of the hand deceives the eye.
Reflecting on how the speed of thievery tricks observers.
deceives the eye the eye the eye...
Repeating the notion that quickness deceives the eye.
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