Mountains of clothes, Don’t Bother Me the phrase of the day as
They are tagged and bagged and sold.
Eight Days A Week, it’s a full-time job, though
Every Little Thing counts in getting the clothes put up on auction.
Let It Be is what I’m not saying, Please Mr Postman,
Pick up our auctions and give them to Some Other Guy who lives in Penny Lane.

Something sometimes thought.
Photo, tag and bag. Tell Me What You See?
I see boxes, bags and tape.
Not A Second Time, we’re selling them now, not later
No Lonesome Tears In My Eyes for unneeded clothes going
Back In The USSR, you Ask Me Why? We don’t need them.

We Can Work It Out, who bought what and what is going to whom,
This’ll be done When I’m Sixty-Four
Run For Your Life; the clothes seem to be getting bigger,
Or is it my imagination? No Reply I get,
It is A Hard Day’s Night but soon I hope…
It is The End.


ok, so I was bored.


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