No you don’t look cool in Camden Town
With your moody face and Moody frown
Punks on the corner and Goths down the road
Mingling with the crack heads with no fixed abode
The smell of new leather on the jacket you wear
And perfectly cropped trimmed and bleach coloured hair
So no you don’t look cool in Camden Town
With your moody face and moody frown
Outside the Worlds End pub, £50 notes in your hand
Jet skiing off to see the new wave band
The underworld is heaving on a Saturday night
Whilst outside the George there’s another fist fight
Spiked haired punks who look only 19
And fat obese skinheads who look obscene
The chilled out dudes outside the Jazz café
And the fleeting tourists here for the day
As I stroll up Camden Road, both up and down
I realise I do look cool in Camden Town.
