good$hoe$.
ooh... ooh...
Men in good shoes don't get mud on them
Sign the thing, fold it twice,
send it in
Warm little room, a map up on the wall
They never go, no,
they never go at all
You can hear the kettle
over all the noise
They send the postcode,
they keep their own boys Tucked up,
safe, asleep upstairs nobody bleeds in the swivel chairs
Good shoes, good shoes,
clean across the floor
Somebody's boy
goes quiet on the news
Good shoes, good shoes,
home before the dark
We keep the receipts,
they keep the
scar ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh ooh-ooh,
ooh-ooh-ooh
They've got a lovely word for it,
a tidy little bag A medal for the widow,
fold the flag up like a napkin,
like a napkin Watch it on the glass with the sound turned
low
Order the same starter
that they always, always order
And when it's done,
when the warm room empties out
same good shoes on the wrong side of the door
Now the good shoes
won't move off the floor
No car coming,
no warm little room no more
Sign their own name now,
fold it twice and wait
And nobody bleeds for them,
nobody, nobody comes
Good shoes, good shoes ooh...
ooh... home... by...
half...
eight