| Ah London you’re a lady
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| Laid out before my eyes
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| Your golden heart is pulsing
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| Between your scarred up thighs
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| Your eyes are full of sadness
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| Red busses skirt your hem
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| Your head-dress is a ring of lights
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| But I would not follow them
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| Your architects were madmen
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| Your builders sane but drunk
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| But amidst your fading jewels
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| Shine acid house and punk
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| You are a scarlet lady
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| Your streets run red with blood
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| My darling they have used you
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| And covered you with mud
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| It was deep down in your womb my love
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| I drank my quart of sin
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| While chinamen played cards and draughts
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| And knocked back Mickey Finns
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| Your blood is like a river
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| And its scent is beer and gin
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| Your hell is in the summer
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| And you blossom in the spring
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| September is your purgatory
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| Christmas is your heaven
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| When the stinking streets of summer
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| Are washed away by rain
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| At the dark end of a lonely street
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| That’s where you lose your pain
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| 'Tis then your eyes dry up my love
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| And sparkle once again |