| We went into town on the Tuesday night |
| Searching all the places that you hang about |
| We’re looking for you |
| In the back street cellar dive drinking clubs |
| In the discotheques and the gaming pubs |
| We’re looking for you |
| You will pay the price for my own sweet brother |
| And what he has become |
| And a hundred other boys and girls |
| And all that you have done |
| We picked up the trail at the Seven Crowns |
| One of your cronies, he was doing your rounds |
| We followed him |
| Just a silhouette figure up Market Pass |
| Where the headlamps shine on the broken glass |
| We followed him |
| Over the bridge by the old canal |
| Where the shadows dance on the lighted wall |
| He stopped to light up a cigarette |
| And we dived into a doorway |
| No police, no summons, no courts of law |
| No proper procedure, no rules of war |
| No mitigating circumstance |
| No lawyers fees, no second chance |
| There are lasses getting trouble on their own home street |
| There are old folk battered in the open street |
| In this city of ours |
| There are eyes that see but say nothing at all |
| There are ears that hear but they don’t recall |
| In this city of ours |
| So we followed your man back to your front door |
| And we’re waiting for you outside |
| 'Cause not everybody here is scared of you |
| Not everybody passes on the other side |
| No police, no summons, no courts of law. .. |
| And we could spend our whole lives waiting for some thunderbolt to come |
| And we could spend our whole lives waiting for some justice to be done |
| Unless we make our own |