Along by the dirty old river we walk and talk, 

Talking of everything, of life, of what it takes,

And never gives back.

We resurrect the past.

Fifty years and more; we hoped for the best,

Prepared for anything, we got by, day-to-day.

Summertime, when the living was easy, and we were young, 

We wanted so desperately to own a scooter, a motorbike. 

But our families were poor. So we waited.

And our mothers were still young ,

Smiled in their pinnies and curlers,

Fathers with hands never free

From engine oil and swafega, a green liquid soap

Good for dissolving ingrained engine oil.

And everybody smoking: tipped or untipped or roll-your-own

Running to the shops for ten Players for mum.

And all the dogs, free of leads,

Kicked out in the morning,

Loved playing havoc with the traffic. 

And plenty of jobs for us boyz n girlz,

Learning to turn our hands to this or that,

paid in cash,

And, on saturday night, buying her a lager and lime

As we sat uncomfortably under-age, 

But no questions asked, in the Unicorn or Red Lion

They needed the trade.

Now all is lost in a drift of time,

Even then the magic was running out quick.  

And, even then..... we kinder knew it.