Sing up tourists, Sing
There's a great croud of tourists and they're coming down the street
Pleased as punch with brand new, Doc Martens on their feet
Past stalls of leather jackets, old bric a brac
Indian sunglasses or a Chinese bobble hat
Tramps stare in the window Of the local butchers shop
Like a pack of wild dogs
They'd run of with the lot
In primrose hill an angry man
His hair standing on end shouts and Rants in the ear of his imaginary friend
In Camden town I'll meet you By the underground
In Camden town, we'll walk there
As the sun goes down
In Camden town
In Camden town, you can do anything
You want to
A drunken busker hit the pavement Sending hot dogs in the air
Towards a broken down bus full of people going nowhere
A string of Irish pubs as far as you can see
Greek Indian Chinese
or would you like a cup of tea
Theres Tapas, fracas alcohol tobbaccos
bongs, bongo bingo, Portugese
Maracas, Theres reggae in the jeggae
Music everywhere
Theres Every kind of song and dance
Madness in the air
~ Suggs
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