He keeps his tools in the garden shed, he mows the lawn he trims the hedge.
Those Latin plant names fill his head, he even sleeps in the flower bed.


[Chorus]
He's the gardener.

He plants the bulbs he sows the seed, he ruthlessly hunts down the weeds.
He works until his poor hands bleed, to own a tractor is his dream.

As world recession takes a hold, his Lordship makes some cuts at home.
He's told to pack his bags and go, he falls dead in the winter snow

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