Where the porticos of Georgian houses
yawn in leafy squares
And the beggar rarely dares
to call spare change
As the ghost of Aubrey Beardsley
watches Churchill wander on
Through the streets of Pimlico
Now the River Thames
goes washing past para
pets and piers
Where the pimpernels of years
have catched a ride
On the lighters and the luggers
while the mudlocks call below
To the streets of Pemlico
There's a roar from old Victoria,
the hubbub and the strain
The fuss of all the buses
and the rush for trains
But in Pemlico
the pi geons on the paving never care
As they work St George's Square
And here came Isadora
before she went to France
When the wealthy of Belgravia
could watch her dance
Like the eddies on the river
are the winds that gently blow
Through the streets of
Pamlico
There's a roar from old Victoria,
the hummock and the strain
The fuss of all the buses
and the rush for trains
But in Pimlico
the pi geons on the paving never care
As they work St George's Square
Now the leaves turn in September
And the sunlight slips away
And the raindrops on the rooftops
at the end of day
But the traffic lights by Box Hall Bridge
refuse to turn to go
For the streets of Pimlico
The streets of Pimlico
The streets of Pimlico
I'm gonna you