There's a man who lives at No.9
I wonder how he sleeps at night
Knowing what is going on next door
You might have seen him on the news
His face just slightly out of view
His views just slightly left but I'm not sure
Has the postman every fluffed his lines
Instead of this week's Business Times
He's dropped him off a classified report
Has he had him 'round for tea
Is he just like you and me
'Cause just like you and me he's wanting more
Eating crème brûlée
Washed down with champagne
He dreams of more
Would it be a dream
Or would it be obscene
To live this way
There's a man who lives at No.8
Who peers out from the wrought iron gate
And wakes at night to double-lock the door
You won't have seen him anywhere
Perhaps the summer village fair
Simply to suggest he's not a bore
The men who live at 8 and 9
They look as though they sleep just fine
Once they've had their glass of chardonnay
They laugh and joke
At things bespoke
The life and times of little folk
Would it be obscene to live this way
Eating crème brûlée
Washed down with champagne
He dreams of more
Would it be a dream
Or would it be obscene
To live this way