Sunny

It's sunny all the time.
Staring into the pool
That our mill town looks over,
And we slap our suncream on.
Textiles couldn't contrive a picture
To describe the flat-capped men,
Kicking a ball down the street,
To the tune of The Macarana.
It's sunny all the time.
Staring into the pool
That our mill town looks over,
And we slap our girls around.