Stop it , London
don't twist and turn
the cold rain , the sharp stern
an old lady selling you wine
calling you " darling " a dozen times
the blue eyes , the pale skin.
Oh , London like your heavy clouds
a mere product of sin
Victoria is her name
another station different yet the same
one vicious like King's town
one lustful like Piccadilly's
music playing everywhere
by young hungry bellies
waiting for a dime

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