The Hole


Words & Music: Jake Thackray

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After work on Friday I was waiting for a bus.
Me mouth was dropping open and my gaze was vacuous.
And in the British worker's classic pose I was leaning on a door
When half way down the wormy woodwork quite by chance I saw a little hole.

Well I know it sounds ridiculous, I know it's awfully odd,
But I suddenly felt like giving that little hole a furtive prod.
So I popped my finger in and then I waggled it about.
But once I'd got the bleeder in, I couldn't get the bleeder out of the hole.
The hole!

Just a little hole in a door, in a door,
Opposite the bus stop of the number 74.
Suddenly my humdrum life was out of my control
When I set my wretched eyes upon the hole.

Into the night I heaved and strained, but still without success.
Then a constable came and asked me for me name and me address.
He said "I can pull you in for loitering and maliciously lingering -
"And, furthermore, you're not supposed to have your finger in that there 'ole."
The hole!

Just a little hole in a door, in a door.
How was I to know that I was breaking the law?
They sent a big Alsatian and a vice squad patrol
When they heard about my finger and the hole.

A crowd sprang up, the streets were full, the public formed a queue.
The national press and the BBC got ready to interview.
They said, "Just smile, please, for the cameras, and do stop fidgeting.
"Now, tell the world just what it feels like with your digit inside a hole."
The hole!

Just a little hole in a door, in a door.
Small, dark recess; nothing less, nothing more.
It may seem quite absurd but it is anything but droll,
Posing for your picture with your finger up a hole!

And then they sent a special doctor with a special rubber glove,
And a very special finger and a very special shove.
And he stroked around and groped around, and wrote down in his book
"The patient is doing nicely, but he's got his finger stuck up a hole."
The hole!

Just a little hole in a door, in a door.
Up came the Fire Brigade with choppers galore.
The door flew off its hinges; it was quite a rigmarole.
They took us off to prison: me, the door, and the hole.

And then when I appeared in court, I cried "M'Lud, it isn't fair!
"Man will always poke up holes, m'Lud, because they're there!
"I'm innocent! I've drunk too deeply from life's bitter cup;
"And if you don't believe me, get yer worshipful finger up any old hole."
The hole!

Just a little hole in a door, in a door.
Seems I've got to live with it for now and evermore.
So, vicar, come and give a wash-and-brush-up to me soul,
'Cos I'm off to meet me Maker with me finger up an everlasting hole.


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