3 Daft Monkeys Let 'em In
Poor old Mr Carpenter is living on his own.
He has no friends or family and no-one ever phones.
He’s sipping on his lager-top, his face is looking
grim.
He’d love to come to talk with you but no one lets him
in.
Let him in, let him in.
And there is young Miss Got-it-all who doesn’t have a
care.
She’ll talk to you for hours even if you’re not quite
there.
She’ll tell you all the wondrous things that she is
going to do.
You’ll know all about her but she won’t know much of
you.
Let her in, let her in.
“Open up, it’s time to care.
There’s a welcome for you there.
There’s a welcome for you there.
Open up, it’s time to share.
There’s a welcome for you there.
There’s a welcome for you there.”
Here’s the old punk Arnie, he’s not been here for a
while.
He’ll tap you for a cigarette with that winning
graveyard smile.
He’ll dance when there’s no music and he’ll always play
the fool,
but give him half an hour you’ll learn more than you
did at school.
Let him in, let him in.
What about the old boys shouting things that don’t make
sense.
They’ll play the devil’s advocate as they sit there on
the fence.
With their hacking and their coughing and their
spitting in their ale,
consuming their elixir that would make most grown men
pale.
Let ‘em in, let ‘em in
And then there are the young ones with nothing else to
do.
Hang around playing pool - at least they’re off the
glue.
Slyly watching peers for some insight into life.
An educational experience that’ll keep them out of
strife.
Now the old place is dying; wants a different
clientele.
They’ll open up a bistro serving remnants of hell.
Stop the people coming in who’ve been coming in for
years.
All in the name of progress they will hide behind their
fears.
Let ‘em in, let ‘em in.
