He let me stand watching with his brush and his knife,
Cobalt and crimson, magenta and white.
Painting the 'osses he brought them to life,
Gilding the lily, all for your delight.

It was on that plate palette the magic began,
A-mixing and a-blending and a-shining the flam.
His old box of brushes he knew every one,
There's the Lark and that's a Crow and for bold use, the Swan.

I learnt from that master with his keen eye and hand,
But I'm old now meself, one o't last in the land.
It's all airbrush and spray now, it's a sign of the time,
So just pass me that Lark, I'll cut in one last line.

Forget all your trials,
We're just selling smiles.

Publishing: Topic Records

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