My London Country Lane

Now I have to live in London, bricks and mortar ev'rywhere
And there's miles of streets whichever way you turn
What with traffic and the crowdedness and smoke what's in the air
For a taste of country life I often yearn
So in the summer mornings from my domicile I roll
The moment that the sun shines on the pane
And although it's only make believe, I has a quiet stroll
Just a little country walk down Drury Lane.

Oh, I loves to take a ramble down my London country lane
And ev'ry time I has the chance I'm going there again
Though there ain't no ploughs and harrows
And the larks is mainly sparrers
Still it's painted up and sez so - it's a real live lane.

Oh, I hate the roads and pavements, though I am a cockney chap
And I'm tired of the very name of 'street'
If at any time I cocks my eye upon a London map
I can feel the corns a growing on my feet
But I'm fresh as any farmer when in Drury Lane I walk
And the piggies, sheeps and rabbits I can see
Though the pretty baas are hanging in the butcher's with the pork
And the bunnies are as Ostend as can be.

Oh, I loves to take a ramble down my London country lane
Where the nippers chuck things at you, and it isn't golden grain
Though the scarlet beans and marrows
Doesn't grow they're all on barrows
Still it's painted up and sez so - it's a real live lane.

When the London streets are baking, and they're ain't a bit of breeze
You'll find the lane is quite a shady bower
You can see the corn a-standing in the fields beneath the trees
On the bags in which the baker sells his flower
You can hear the village natives using Middlesexy words
To the wagoner what drives the brewer's dray
And you're almost sure to drop upon a lot of 'downy' birds
Though you very seldom comes across a jay.

Oh, I loves to take a ramble down my London country lane
Where I meet the rustic maiden and I sing 'My pretty Jane'
Though I never twigs the squire
Nor observe the village spire
Still it's painted up and sez so - it's a real live lane.