As I walk these streets alone, through this borough I call home.
Upon the baron fields of Highbury, 'neath the stadiums of stone.
Through the turnstiles at The Angel, see the homeless on the green.
From The Cally to The Cross, and every shithole in between.
Pass the church, the mosque, a crack den, and the offie on the corner.
See the brasses from the brothel that pretends to be a sauna.
Watch the bedlam in the bookies, see the winners and the losers.
Seeking solace from their sorrow in the local battle cruisers.
Through the madness in the market, weathered faces turn to greet ya.
"'Ello gov'nor, how's your mother?"
"You alright, son, be lucky, geezer."
Double pie and mash and liquor, a Cuppa Rosie Lee up chap.
Or watch retired gangsters bicker, every day in Arthur's café.
The little f**kers causing trouble, for the cozzers make you smile.
You meet ya muckers for a couple, forget your troubles for a while.
From The Thornhill to The Hemmy, all the faces are the same.
'Cause the manor might be changing, but the people still remain.
North London forever.
Whatever the weather, these streets are our own.
And my heart will leave you, never.
My blood will forever run through the stone.
As I walk these streets alone, through a kingdom made of chrome.
I see them ripping up the cobbles, and tearing down our childhood homes.
I see the architecture changing, watch the history disappear.
And the skyline rearranging into towers of veneer.
But I see the remnants of a London that they thought they could erase.
Every time I hear the old school talk about the good old days.
Or every time I watch the football and have a ruby with the lads.
See an hoister selling clobber or a dealer shooting bags.
It's in the single mothers juggling a baby and a job.
In every single brother struggling that wound up in the dock.
It's in the roots and the foundations, still clinging to the land.
It's in the bricks that built the Morland and Popham that still stand.
It's in my family and my friends, in every gram and every Benz.
It's in the roots that we inherit when a generation ends.
It's in the ruins of your youth and the faces of your past.
'Cause the manor might be changing, but the people always last.
North London forever.
Whatever the weather, these streets are our own.
And my heart will leave you, never.
My blood will forever run through the stone!
