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London Pride has been handed down to us. |
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London Pride is a flower that's free. |
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London Pride means our own dear town to us, |
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And our pride it for ever will be. |
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Woa, Liza, |
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See the coster barrows, |
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Vegetable marrows |
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And the fruit piled high. |
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Woa, Liza, |
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Little London sparrows, |
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Covent Garden Market where the costers cry. |
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Cockney feet |
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Mark the beat of history. |
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Every street |
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Pins a memory down. |
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Nothing ever can quite replace |
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The grace of London Town. |
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There's a little city flower every spring unfailing |
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Growing in the crevices by some London railing, |
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Though it has a Latin name, in town and country-side |
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We in England call it London Pride. |
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London Pride has been handed down to us. |
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London Pride is a flower that's free. |
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London Pride means our own dear town to us, |
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And our pride it for ever will be. |
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Hey, lady, |
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When the day is dawning |
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See the policeman yawning |
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On his lonely beat. |
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Gay lady, |
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Mayfair in the morning, |
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Hear the footsteps echo in the empty street. |
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Early rain |
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And the pavement's glistening. |
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All Park Lane |
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In a shimmering gown. |
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Nothing ever could break or harm |
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The charm of London Town.' |
