It's my kind of town - not pretty or grand - The streets are all dirty, some houses fall down. The street stones are cracked - and some of the folks - The yardies have guns and deal out the smokes. I know it's not Cheam - there's too much to dread, It's poor and it's tough, but Brixton's got cred. There's gay boys and girls (in all colours too) There's mad men 'n' sad men and villainous churls. Some Brixtish are good, they'll show you the tricks, They'll find you a home, and fix the 'lectrics. They tot and they squat, they duck and they dive, You'll love 'em a lot, and hope they survive. Desmond's like that - he's that kind of man - But I'm rabbitting on - why don't we sit down? A Guinness for me? A big pint for sure! Let's settle down now - I'll tell you some more. There's drinkers, thinkers, artists and dancers, There's poets and painters and muscley physiques! There's music and fashion, film and no-chancers, Was riots, there's drugs and all sorts of freaks. I drank in the Railway, and played in the Arch, Got funding for projects; got ripped by a shark, Got scarred in the face, and hard in the head. But Brixton's my place, it gave me a bed. It's not all like that - the kids go to schools To be stuffed full of nonsense and fat-headed rules, We'd Poll Tax, we've social security spies; But here in the ghetto, there's safety in lies. I've known many friends; magic Dave with his tricks; Little Richard computes; and Ant the artist; Sal; Billy, once punk; and Peter, still drunk. Saw Bob in a blue film; that's one way to bunk. Rustyna the dancer - I gave her my heart... She gave it right back - love can be hard. Fiona who squatted the house where I live And Eva, from Bydgoszcz, who's still heading west. I wish that I could ... again see friend Jules - Got took by the plague - for hanging round loos. There's life and there's debt, you choose how you play, It's my kind of town, with Brixton I'll stay.