I rarely go to Walthamstow,
I never visit Hayes,
I’m seldom seen in Parsons Green,
Or Catford Bridge, or Grays.
It’s not their fault my doings halt
This side of Pimlico,
But now the thrill of Hampstead Hill
Is one I’ll never know.
You see, the catch with Colney Hatch
Is that it’s far away,
And Belvedere is not so near,
And nor is Harringay.
It’s quite a trek to Tooting Bec
To tax my weary feet;
To all who dwell in Camberwell,
I guess we’ll never meet.
I’m at a loss beyond King Cross
In Wimbledon or Cheam,
And hopes to race to Enfield Chase
Are but a wistful dream.
My view is dark of Belsize Park,
No matter how I look,
I’ll never gain on Rayners Lane,
Nor wade in Stamford Brook.
My plans to rove in Arnos Grove
Will never come to good;
I can’t head down to Kentish Town,
Nor fly to Falconwood.
They’re much too far from Temple Bar,
Though hardly by design;
It’s just today I rarely stray
Beyond the Circle Line.
I was aiming for a modern version of Bow Bells, but what with property prices these days, it’s already thirty years out of date.