London of yesteryear when the smog came from the coal fires and cars was not a word the working class knew.
The beggar stumbled and hobbled
Brass nightwalkers ply on streets made of cobbles
Peelers moved them on if no bribe
Off their patch to another’s side
Fog swirled by the candlelight’s glow
Homeless urchins collecting trophies they steal just like the crow
Drunken sailors knocking one more ale down
Just part of life in old smoggy London town
Never sleeping
Even when the early dawn comes creeping
The milk cart rattles
Delivering white dew in iron kettles
Smokies on the table of the rich
Others in the alleyways played pitch
Hansoms clattered along in the silently loud hush
A farthing all the way to Shepherds Bush
So the beggar stumbled and hobbled
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