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streets of balsall heathon cobbled streets the children played the ropes they spun the hands they waved the lights were old and gas lit the terraced houses were not fit for human use the families were large and neat often the kids had nothing on their feet but they were happy in their ways i collected and took them down to dorset for holidays they were Irish,English,Pakistani and west Indies bred they were rare kids though so easy led the neighborhood was rough and uncouth but they made me welcome under their roofs thats the Truth it was the sixties bill and Ben old Harold lived at number ten the roads were busy the winters cold snow was falling copper and lead was sold the ladypool road market was so bustling colorful and alive the kids all knew me well as well as their fathers and their wives the skinheads then were all of the rage along with ice tops and page three babes we had a 16 foot dalek on our adventure playground site courtesy of the BBC students rag day jamboree it was battery driven lit up at night the vicar bill wore a goatee beard plus bovver boots he was a rare sight the skins all cheered him thought he was real cute delight the springtime tulip festival was a great city pride i took 300 kids there free for to ride the greasers came along from rev colliers double zero club they threw the naughty skins into the parks big lakes tub Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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