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I grew up in Lonesome undercover of the remnants of the old football ground
And as they trampled Sunshine Way to steal our rightful London clay I was surprised to hear nobody make a sound
A monument to when the old guard was overthrown
Cause we deserved somewhere to call our own
It was new, it was real, it was ours
I kicked around with my mates out in Wimbledon where plate glass supersedes the béton brut
And as the tooting border reivers bravely fought the Foxton phalanx I was wishing there was something I could do bout all these
Parks and reaches everywhere; I stare in disbelief at Kinleigh Folkard Hayward’s newest fief
It’s new, and it’s real, and it’s ours
I'll take suburban rail, cause all we have's suburban rail, pay my respects to Edgar Kail and then look down
I'll stand atop Dog Kennel Hill and let the rousing war cry spill with such a venom it could kill half of this town
“Well if you’d only come out west with me, along the South Circ past the ‘23, we could show ‘em how we do things down in South”
“So grab a pint along Garratt Lane, and grab your guns on Armoury Way, and we will fight them on Wandsworth Plain”
“We’ll take this city back, build on new ground”
It’d be new, it’d be real, it’d be ours
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2. |
Ballade slave
07:24
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3. |
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How I love this town
Even as it falls apart
In the dead of night
Leafy country lanes
Welcome you to Croydon, dear
How I love this town
Friends know I'll be late
A collared dove still cooing
In the dead of night
The festival can wait
Cause lavender fields call to me
How I love this town
Staring up in awe at
Oak trees limned in ochre light
In the dead of night
Briefly it was mine
But never mine again
Nearly half past nine
Smitham Bottom Lane
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