He's got a flat, it's just south of the river
A wipe clean kitchen
White as an American smile
And wide as an American child
He spends his weekends talking to his mother
About himself and how he's got nobody to talk to
(Boohoo now)
He's got nobody at all

I guess he can't get along, get along, get along
I guess he can't get along, get along, get on

He's got a flat, it's one foot on the ladder
A new build, red brick
50 feet of communal grass
And you can't put a price on that
Loves culture, sees what he's able
Spends his evenings playing house of pain on his hands
And praying there's no pain when he lands


I guess he can't get along, get along, get along
I guess he can't get along, get along, get on

It means nothing at all
Until the key's in the door
And the deed's in his name
And he's changing every lock in the place
And at the root of it all
Is his reluctance to fall
And it's always the same
50 minutes into work
And he just keeps walking
One foot then the other
Beer or wine?
I don't know why he bothers
It's all the same
And there's not an easy laugh
And he wants tennis courts
Swimming pools
Water's warm at the Cote d'Azur
Well he dreams of yachts
Well quite a lot for him

I guess he can't get along, get along
Too up, too down, too busy to call
I guess he can't get along, get along
Well the smile above the Windsor seems wrong
I guess he can't get along, get along, get along