In penny lane there is a barber showing photographs, of every head he's had the pleasure to have known, and all the people that come and go, stop and say hello. On the corner is a banker with a motorcar, the little children laugh at him behind his back, and the banker never wears a mac, in the pouring rain, very strange.

   Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes. There beneath the blue suburban skies I sit, and meanwhile back.

   In penny lane there is a fireman with an hourglass, and in his pocket is a portrait of the queen, he likes to keep his fire engine clean, it's a clean machine.

   Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes, a four of fish and finger pies, in summer meanwhile back.

   Behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout, the pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray, and though she feels as if she's in a play, she is anyway. In penny lane the barber shaves another customer, we see the banker sitting waiting for a trim, and then the fireman rushes in, from the pouring rain, very strange.

   Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes, there beneath the blue suburban skies I sit and meanwhile back. Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes, there beneath the  blue suburban skies. Penny lane.