Fickle Fran
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) and everybody's on it
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) though the product's pretty
It's en evident pity now
That they don't want it, no, they just don't want it
(Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce you)
(To the tale of Fickle Fran, your local unofficial salesman)
Franny's not rich no, neither poor
Sells knock-off clobber door to door
Says winter's far too cold
And the wages don't come near
On a sunny prom, he'll sell to masses
Cheap handbags and fake sunglasses
Like he's in a crack-house
And he's a dealer pushing gear
Sets up a stall near where a band begins to play
But Fran, he's living in ten years yesterday
And as the bands sings
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) and everybody's on it
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) though the product's pretty
It's en evident pity now that they don't want it
As the sun beats down and the beverages pour
Fran pulls a frown because the game he once knew
Ain't the same anymore
Burning skin, pouring sweat
The man's not sold an item yet
He sighs, "Life's getting harder now
And this job's become a curse"
Fran admits with heavy shame
"Things went downhill since Bezos came
And all these eastern websites
Well, they've made things even worse"
Poor Fickle Francis just won't admit defeat
He now prays for winter to get back on his feet
And as the band sings
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) and everybody's on it
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) though the product's pretty
It's en evident pity now that they don't want it
So he tries a different door
With claims of selling everything you need and more
Says, "I'm living with an eye on bailiffs after me"
Still rather this than working in a factory
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) and everybody's on it
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) though the product's pretty
It's en evident pity now that they don't want it
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) and everybody's on it
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) though the product's pretty
It's en evident pity now
That they don't want it, no, they just don't want it
(Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce you)
(To the tale of Fickle Fran, your local unofficial salesman)
Franny's not rich no, neither poor
Sells knock-off clobber door to door
Says winter's far too cold
And the wages don't come near
On a sunny prom, he'll sell to masses
Cheap handbags and fake sunglasses
Like he's in a crack-house
And he's a dealer pushing gear
Sets up a stall near where a band begins to play
But Fran, he's living in ten years yesterday
And as the bands sings
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) and everybody's on it
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) though the product's pretty
It's en evident pity now that they don't want it
As the sun beats down and the beverages pour
Fran pulls a frown because the game he once knew
Ain't the same anymore
Burning skin, pouring sweat
The man's not sold an item yet
He sighs, "Life's getting harder now
And this job's become a curse"
Fran admits with heavy shame
"Things went downhill since Bezos came
And all these eastern websites
Well, they've made things even worse"
Poor Fickle Francis just won't admit defeat
He now prays for winter to get back on his feet
And as the band sings
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) and everybody's on it
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) though the product's pretty
It's en evident pity now that they don't want it
So he tries a different door
With claims of selling everything you need and more
Says, "I'm living with an eye on bailiffs after me"
Still rather this than working in a factory
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) the sun's out in the city
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) and everybody's on it
(Ba, ba-da-da-da, ba) though the product's pretty
It's en evident pity now that they don't want it
Credits
Writer(s): Jamie Mark Webster
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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