Yeah there ain't nowhere like London town, I swear, but the once familiar streets cast shadows everywhere.
And, vultures fly, orbiting the M25, obscured by the smoke and smog that fills the sky.
The chain gang marches through the streets of London.
As the tower bells ricochet off the cobble stone like musket fire, yeah the chain gang marches through the streets of London.
She burns like a queen for all to see, setting fire to the hearts of country men like me.
And it pains me so 'cos the higher the buildings grow, the lower the morals of this city go, whoa.
And the chain gang marches through the streets of London as the tower bells ricochet off the cobble stone like musket fire.
Yeah the chain gang marches through the streets of London, My London.
The drones call time on the breadline, knocking off on another day desk driving, ladder climbing and simply signing life away.
While down on Tottenham court the kids with nothing else get to sing a song.
We raise a glass to rule Britannia and hope the old girl sings along.
So if these days are numbered, please don't let me know.
And, if these days are numbered, please don't let me know!
And, all the rats run wild on the DLR between Canary Wharf and Bank!
And the chain gang marches through the streets of London, as the tower bells ricochet off the cobble stone like musket fire.
The chain gang marches through the streets of London.
Yeah I swear, there ain't nowhere like London where the tower bells ricochet off the cobble stone like musket fire.
The chain gang marches through the streets of London.
And, vultures fly, orbiting the M25, obscured by the smoke and smog that fills the sky.
The chain gang marches through the streets of London.
As the tower bells ricochet off the cobble stone like musket fire, yeah the chain gang marches through the streets of London.
She burns like a queen for all to see, setting fire to the hearts of country men like me.
And it pains me so 'cos the higher the buildings grow, the lower the morals of this city go, whoa.
And the chain gang marches through the streets of London as the tower bells ricochet off the cobble stone like musket fire.
Yeah the chain gang marches through the streets of London, My London.
The drones call time on the breadline, knocking off on another day desk driving, ladder climbing and simply signing life away.
While down on Tottenham court the kids with nothing else get to sing a song.
We raise a glass to rule Britannia and hope the old girl sings along.
So if these days are numbered, please don't let me know.
And, if these days are numbered, please don't let me know!
And, all the rats run wild on the DLR between Canary Wharf and Bank!
And the chain gang marches through the streets of London, as the tower bells ricochet off the cobble stone like musket fire.
The chain gang marches through the streets of London.
Yeah I swear, there ain't nowhere like London where the tower bells ricochet off the cobble stone like musket fire.
The chain gang marches through the streets of London.