Pogues Nw3
It was 1962
I was two years out of school
When I got on board
A boat that was bound for Liverpool
The day I went away
I remember it so well
Said goodbye to the North Wall
And bid a fond farewell
By the time I hit the smoke
It was 1963
I got a job doing meals on wheels
Round NW3
I was scring poor old grannies
For a half a quid a week
I was drunk and stoned and
Smashed and blocked in NW3
In the filth and piss they lived in
They would sometimes hum an air
Or talk in tongues of madness
Keeping time upon the chair
And for their wrists a numbered tab
In Westminister morgue
On a cold hard slab
When I was still a young man
In NW3
At the top of the Pentonville Road
I watched the sun setting
The town spread out before me
Looked beautiful to me
Away from all the crying
The suffering and the dying
I dreamed of the future
Of the young and the free
But the years they slip by quickly
Now I know I won't return here
Where each day just brings me closer
To that final misery
My kids will never
Scrape shit round here
And I won't die
Crying in a pint of beer
Or eat their
Stinking meals on wheels
In NW3
