Not much goes on around my way;

It’s probably the same near you:

The brutes of buildings, boarded shops,

Unyielding gloom, the angry street,

The young, with nothing else to do.

 

So when they said I should join up,

I thought to myself: ‘Well, why not?’

It seemed a chance to break away

Into a blast of a cleaner air.

Nobody said I would get shot.

 

So now I lie beneath the stars

And yearn for my old stamping ground.

Compared to this, it wasn’t bad:

You got used to the gruff routine,

And knew which pavement you would pound.