Have you seen the young men every hundred metres Selling the Big Issue in their worn out shoes? Two quid a time in pity, to survive our winter city, Then off to sleep in doorways under yesterday's news.
So how can you tell me London’s lovely And say the pavements here are made of gold? Let me take you by the hand and lead you through a sea of litter I'll show you something to make your blood run cold.
Have you seen the charity workers lurking with their clipboards? "Can you spare a minute for leukaemia or the blind?" Whenever they start talking, you just keep right on walking, Sometimes it's much better to be cruel to be kind.
Have you seen the tourists outside the Trocadero, Blocking up the pavement with a camera in their hand? They make you slow your pace, shove a rucksack in your face, The Mayor should pass a law to get their wheelie cases banned.
Have you seen the young girls along the streets of Mayfair Heads all facing downward, made up older than their years? They came here seeking fame, but now they’re on the game, London's fascination isn't all that it appears.