Cor blimey it\'s London! ~ a wet winter\'s day,
The stream in the gutter swills fancies away.
\'eavens \'ave opened, the wind \'n\' the rain,
All of your credence is washed down the drain.
A walk by the river that rolls along still;
You turn up your collar to turn out the chill.
Old Father Thames is right showin\' \'is age
By slushy pavin\' along the Bird Cage.
The electric of neon, flashin\' aglow,
It lights up the shadows, it lights up Soho.
A sidestep down Dean Street where philosophers roam
And then passin\' the lodgin\' ~ once Karl Marx\'s \'ome
Street vendors are weathered, soaked to the skin,
\'ot chestnut sellers are sizzlin\' within;
And corners and alleys where umbrae of bright
Drape faces of \'arlots, the girls of the night.
Along past the Palace, the digs of our Queen,
She\'s doin\' quite nice, if you knows what I mean?
No time to visit \'er, no time to call,
Gawd bless \'er Majesty; Gawd bless us all.
So, it\'s back \'ome at nightfall, the place where I sleep;
Where my bed is sufficient to make Jesus weep.
By the sacrosanct soup kitchen down by the docks...
Which is just up the road from me owd cardboard box.