| Not everything’s for sale
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| Not everything can be sold
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| Not everywhere and everyone
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| Are built in the same mould
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| Whilst loving it
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| Not loathing it
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| It’s really hard to believe
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| I’m still not bored
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| Of you yet London
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| I just feel the need to leave
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| Knock down it’s very centre
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| Rip the heart out
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| Oh, what’s the point?
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| Replacing all the signs
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| With the same old generic fonts
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| Goodbye London
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| You’re sky high city scape
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| Each time I leave you
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| Feels like the great escape
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| Not fallen out of
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| Still feel the love
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| But living inside
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| Fits like a glove
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| Goodbye London
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| Your city was once great
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| Your streets are paved with pastimes
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| Memories turned from dust to gold
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| It’s time all those city bankers
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| And the powers that be were told
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| It’s the artists and the underground
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| That stops the concrete from turning cold
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| That our lifestyle’s not for sale
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| And our living can’t be sold
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| I just want the imperfections
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| Grime and dirt with no perfections
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| Take me back I’ve no objections
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| I’m aroused
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| Like the places that’s best not mentioned
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| The sexy light show projections
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| With dirty lit attractions
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| Oh, wow |