Camden Town Lyrics

Sing up tourists. Sing.
There's a great crowd of tourists and they're coming down the street
Pleased as punch with brand new Doctor Marten's on their feet.
Past stalls with leather jackets, old bric-a-brac,
Indian sunglasses or a Chinese bobble hat.
Tramps stare in the window of the local butcher's shop,
Like a pack of wild dogs they'd run off with the lot.
In Primrose Hill, an angry man his hair standing on end,
Shouts and rants in the ear of his imaginary friend.

In Camden Town, I'll meet you by the underground,
In Camden Town, we'll walk there as the sun goes down.
In Camden Town.
In Camden Town you can do anything you want to.

A drunken busker hits the pavement, sending hot-dogs in the air.
Towards a broken down bus full of people going nowhere.
A string of Irish pubs as far as you can see,
Greek, Indian, Chinese. Or would you like a cup of tea?
There's tapas, fracas, alcohol, tobaccos,
Bongs, bongo bingo, Portuguese maracas,
There's Reggae in the jeggae, music everywhere.
Every kind of song and dance. Madness in the air.

In Camden Town, I'll meet you by the underground,
In Camden Town, we'll walk there as the sun goes down.
In Camden Town.

The tourists sing.
OOOOOOOOH. Sing,
OOOOH. Sing up,
OOOH.

Two fat Americans interrupt their stay
They put down their bags, they were clamped and towed away,
There's Turksh cakes, designer fakes, fathers dressed as nuns.
Every kind of music here, the night has just begun.

In Camden Town, I'll meet you by the underground,
In Camden Town, we'll walk there as the sun goes down.
In Camden Town.
In Camden Town you can do anything you want to.

In Camden Town, in Camden Town,
In Camden Town, in Camden Town.