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Through the rubble of the bombed out streets |
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Through the squalor and the poverty |
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Walks a proud Neapolitan girl |
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With a head of thick black curls |
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She doesn't care 'bout right or wrong |
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Just about where the next meal's coming from |
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Innocence can often be |
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Another one of war's casualties |
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But innocence can be restored |
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With a visit to the Professore |
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For ten thousand lire he |
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Can find mislaid virginity |
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His dirty needle leaves a trail of scars |
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And keeps her at the peak of her sexual powers |
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She takes him riding on the 133 |
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Through the city to the cemetery |
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Where the Neapolitan girls go |
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Down behind the headstones |
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Oh the quickening breath and muffled cries |
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As life and death become entwined |
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Now baby, just pretend you don't see 'em |
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Lusting in the mausoleum |
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Lola has a lover in the city bank |
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And Lola has a lover in the British ranks |
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Well Lola has them over in the middle of the day |
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Cause Lola makes the neighbours all jealous that way |
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She doesn't care 'bout right or wrong |
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Just about where the next meal's coming from |
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Neapolitan girl |
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Neapolitan girl |
