“Who lives here Grandma, What’s his name Grandma?”
On his bench beside the door with a billy can for tea
He’d sit and think and chat and drink – the Cocky Watchman

In the corner of the park, in his little iron den
Keeps it tidy, sweeps the park, the kettles on again
Oils the chains and check the bolts to keep the swings maintained
Shiny see-saw, painted swings in red and blue and green

Me mother’s cooking dinner so we went there with me dad
With a butty and a bottle of lemonade and oh, what fun we had
Bill and dad they’d chat for hours while we were on the swings
With a Garibaldi biscuit they’d talk of many things

“Who lives here Grandma, What’s his name Grandma?”
On a bench beside the door with a billy can for tea
He’d sit and think and chat and drink – the Cocky Watchman

In the corner of the park, the little iron den
Windows boarded, iron grills and walls all daubed with pen
Broken doorstep, peeling paint, it looked so sad to see
There’s a great big hole and missing tiles where the chimney used to be

Now the park is empty and the keeper he has gone
To the great big, coloured playground in the sky
And as he watches down below as on our way we go
And the eight-year-old just asks for reasons why

“Who lives here Grandma, What’s his name Grandma?”
On his bench beside the door with a billy can for tea
He’d sit and think and chat and drink – the Cocky Watchman, the Cocky Watchman