Who’s gonna tell the orange they’re actually brown?
Who’s gonna mop up for grey when they’ve painted the town?
It’s the news that everyone dreads; that we’re no longer painting it red
That our gag’s still funny but they’ve opted for a different clown
You were great in the sixties, but we’re gonna have to pull you down…
Nothing like the sound of the shallow jumping in at the deep
Royalty’s balloon coming down is a memorable shriek
Nothing quite like the sickening clout of the dive into pool drained out
You excelled as a Queen but you’ll have to return the crown
You were great in the sixties, but we’re gonna have to pull you down…
Who’s gonna tell the tall they’re beginning to shrink?
Like who’s gonna tell the Swiss they’re no longer in sync?
We’ll have to get the maroon in a separate counselling room
Say, «It may be your washer, but you seem to be fading to pink»
Yesterday’s ice-cool doesn’t take long to melt and sink…
Who’s gonna tell the cities that are acting like towns
They’re actually just a village that the posh surrounds
The diplomatic answer to your 25 stone dancer
Is your act’s still great, but we can’t keep changing a pound
You were Queen in your day but you’re gonna have to give back the crown…
You were great in the sixties, but we’re gonna have to pull you down…