Oh, London, I'll sing of your joys and delights
Your wet rainy days and your dark foggy nights
Your walks and your drives and your lanes and your streets
Your joys and your noise and your swindles and cheats
The place where some people are rolling in gold
While others are dying of hunger I'm told
Where thousands of pounds in charity spent
And few reach the poor folks for whom it is meant.
Chorus: In London, London, place of renown
Oh, London, London, Great London Town.
Oh, London, where taxes no grumblings provoke
Where dust is so rare, and you rarely see smoke
Where organ men play till with joy you could leap
And the gas and the coals are so wonderfully cheap
Where cabmen they seldom charge more than their fares
And the public they never get swindled with shares
Where the finest of meat goes in penny pies
And policemen have never been known to tell lies.
Oh, London, how charming to walk thro' thy Strand
And listen to the music of a sweet German Band
Poor old Temple Bar upon crutches to see
And the place where the Law Courts are going to be
On the National Gallery gaze then with pride
Or view the Embankment, so trim and so wide
Ah, and where can they make more brilliant display
Than down Seven Dials and Ratcliff Highway.
Oh, London, how nice thro' the City to range
And watch the strange doings at the famed Stock Exchange
Where bubbles are burst and fortunes are lost
As widows and orphans oft fine to their cost
There's the grand Mansion House where the Aldermen dine
When the Lord Mayor invites them to turtle and wine
Gog and Magog you'll find in Guildhall, of renown
And Cheapside paved with asphalt to throw horse down.
Oh, London, where princes and paupers too, dwell
Where the laws they are made, aye, and broken as well
Where there's palaces, hovels, asylums and clubs
Churches and chapels and gin-shops and pubs
Baronets, beggars and parsons and scamps
Teetotallers, drunkards and statesmen and tramps
Tradesmen and salesmen who everything sell
Quakers and Shakers and Fakirs as well.
Oh, London, where Board Schools and busses abound
Where there's trains over houses and trains underground
Where splendid improvements are always the plan
And the poor are turned out to get in where they can
To see it great strangers have come from afar
Emperors and Kings, the Czar and the Shah
So let other folks say whatever they will
With thy faults, London, why I love thee still.
|Written, composed and performed by Fred Albert (1844-1886)|
|From monologues.co.uk Music Hall Lyrics Collection|