In Penny Lane there is a showing photographs,
of every head he's had the pleasure to know.
And all the people that come and go,
stop and say hello.

On the corner is a with a motorcar,
the little children laugh at him behind his back.
And the banker never wears a mack,
in the pouring rain, very strange.

Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There, beneath the blue, suburban skies,
I sit, and meanwhile back.

In Penny Lane there is a with an hourglass,
and in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen.
He likes to keep his fire engine clean,
it's a clean machine.

Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
A four of fish and finger pies,
in summer, meanwhile back.
Behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout,
the pretty is selling poppies from a tray.
And though she feels as if she's in a play,
she is anyway.

In Penny Lane the shaves another customer,
we see the sitting waiting for a trim.
And then the rushes in,
from the pouring rain, very strange.

Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There, beneath the blue, suburban skies,
I sit, and meanwhile back.
Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There, beneath the blue, suburban skies,
Penny Lane.

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