Through the rubble of the bombed out streets

Through the squalor and the poverty

Walks a proud Neapolitan girl

With a head of thick black curls

She doesn't care 'bout right or wrong

Just about where the next meal's coming from



Innocence can often be

Another one of war's casualties

But innocence can be restored

With a visit to the Professore

For ten thousand lire he

Can find mislaid virginity



His dirty needle leaves a trail of scars

And keeps her at the peak of her sexual powers



She takes him riding on the 133

Through the city to the cemetery

Where the Neapolitan girls go

Down behind the headstones

Oh the quickening breath and muffled cries

As life and death become entwined



Now baby, just pretend you don't see 'em

Lusting in the mausoleum



Lola has a lover in the city bank

And Lola has a lover in the British ranks

Well Lola has them over in the middle of the day

Cause Lola makes the neighbours all jealous that way

She doesn't care 'bout right or wrong

Just about where the next meal's coming from

Neapolitan girl

Neapolitan girl