In The Earliest Days Of My Shoplifting Career,

You Could Safely Say I Was Filled With Fear.

It Was Nail Biting Work From The Very Start,

But Several Quick Sucesses Soon Gave Me Heart.

After A While I Could Pick Or Nick Or Steal,

Some Shirts Some Trousers And A Few LPs.

No-one Ever Stopped Me, They Didn't Seem To Care.

It Sometimes Seemed To Me That There Was No-one There.



Then A Fine Summers Day My Mates And Me,

Set Off Down The Westend On Our Usual Spree.

Things Were As Normal For An Hour Or So,

Then My Nimble Hands Were A Bit Too Slow.

Two Store Detectives Made A Fast Approach,

One Grabbed My Jacket (you're Nicked!)

The Other Grabbed My Throat.

So They Caught Me At Last, One Said With Joy:

"You'll Have To Do Some Time, My Light Fingered Boy!"



If Only I'd Remembered My Common Sense,

They Captured Me Red-handed With Evidence.

If I Go To The Manager And Say I'm Sorry,

Maybe He'll Forgive Me For My Youthful Folly.



But What Will Me Social Worker Say,

If I Don't Come Home Today?

He'll Give Me A Clout!

What If They Don't Let Me Out?

I Told Him I'm On Me Own!

Don't They Understand?

I'm From A Broken Home!



I'll Tell Them I'm The Product Of A Broken Home,

And I Always Went Out On My Own.

Was It Too Late To Say I'd Pay,

And I'll Never Steal Again 'till The End Of My Days?

Because I Have No Friends To Call As Such,

Money And Posessions I Did Not Have Much,

So I Started To Steal In Order To Get By.

The Quickness Of The Hand Deceives The Eye.

Deceives The Eye The Eye The Eye...