Poor old Mr Carpenter is living on his own.
He has no friends or family and no-one ever phones.
He's sipping on his lager-top, his face is looking grim.
He'd love to come to talk with you but no one lets him in.
Let him in, let him in.
And there is young Miss Got-it-all who doesn't have a care.
She'll talk to you for hours even if you're not quite there.
She'll tell you all the wondrous things that she is going to do.
You'll know all about her but she won't know much of you.
Let her in, let her in.
"Open up, it's time to care.
There's a welcome for you there.
There's a welcome for you there.
Open up, it's time to share.
There's a welcome for you there.
There's a welcome for you there."
Here's the old punk Arnie, he's not been here for a while.
He'll tap you for a cigarette with that winning graveyard smile.
He'll dance when there's no music and he'll always play the fool,
but give him half an hour you'll learn more than you did at school.
Let him in, let him in.
What about the old boys shouting things that don't make sense.
They'll play the devil's advocate as they sit there on the fence.
With their hacking and their coughing and their spitting in their ale,
consuming their elixir that would make most grown men pale.
Let 'em in, let 'em in
And then there are the young ones with nothing else to do.
Hang around playing pool - at least they're off the glue.
Slyly watching peers for some insight into life.
An educational experience that'll keep them out of strife.
Now the old place is dying; wants a different clientele.
They'll open up a bistro serving remnants of hell.
Stop the people coming in who've been coming in for years.
All in the name of progress they will hide behind their fears.
Let 'em in, let 'em in.
He has no friends or family and no-one ever phones.
He's sipping on his lager-top, his face is looking grim.
He'd love to come to talk with you but no one lets him in.
Let him in, let him in.
And there is young Miss Got-it-all who doesn't have a care.
She'll talk to you for hours even if you're not quite there.
She'll tell you all the wondrous things that she is going to do.
You'll know all about her but she won't know much of you.
Let her in, let her in.
"Open up, it's time to care.
There's a welcome for you there.
There's a welcome for you there.
Open up, it's time to share.
There's a welcome for you there.
There's a welcome for you there."
Here's the old punk Arnie, he's not been here for a while.
He'll tap you for a cigarette with that winning graveyard smile.
He'll dance when there's no music and he'll always play the fool,
but give him half an hour you'll learn more than you did at school.
Let him in, let him in.
What about the old boys shouting things that don't make sense.
They'll play the devil's advocate as they sit there on the fence.
With their hacking and their coughing and their spitting in their ale,
consuming their elixir that would make most grown men pale.
Let 'em in, let 'em in
And then there are the young ones with nothing else to do.
Hang around playing pool - at least they're off the glue.
Slyly watching peers for some insight into life.
An educational experience that'll keep them out of strife.
Now the old place is dying; wants a different clientele.
They'll open up a bistro serving remnants of hell.
Stop the people coming in who've been coming in for years.
All in the name of progress they will hide behind their fears.
Let 'em in, let 'em in.