There's a great crowd
of tourists and they're
coming down the street
Pleased as punch with
brand new Doctor Martens
on their feet
Past stalls of
leather jackets,
old bric-a-brac
Indian sunglasses
or Chinese bobble hats
Tramps stare in the window
of the local butchers shop
Like a pack of wild dogs
they run off with the lot
In Primrose Hill an angry man,
his hair standing on end
Shouts and rants in the air
of his imaginary friend
In Camden Town
I'll meet you
by the underground
In Camden Town,
we 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
would you like a cup of tea?
There's tapas, francas,
alcohol, tobaccos
Bongs, bongo, bingo,
Portuguese maracas
There's reggae in the jetty
and 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 walk there
as the sun goes down
In Camden Town
Two fat Americans enter
with a stare
They put down their bags,
they were clamped
and turned away
This Turkish coat designer,
fake, father dressed as nuns
Every kind of music and
the night has just begun
In Camden Town
I'll meet you
by the underground
In Camden Town,
we 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
In Camden Town