One Seven Seven
To the tune of Whiter Shade
of Pale
by Procol Harum
She’s smoked her last tobacco
In all indoor public spaces
As in other parts of
Where the crowd called out for air
When the room was getting smoky
And the air con didn’t work
When they called out for an open window
The waiter brought an ash tray
Now its not much later
And she’s thinking this
aint fair
While their breathing cleaner air
I'm longing for cigarettes
She asked them 'what will happen
If I'm caught fag-in-hand'?
And they told her she could be fined
As much as fifty quid
Those in charge of the premises
Would be fools to let her do it
Considering they’d loose everything
If the issue goes to court.
And so its not much later
Than two thousand seven
On the first day of July
Put her lighter in the dustbin