It was 1962 
I was two years out of school 
When I got on board 
A boat that was bound for Liverpool 
The day I went away 
I remember it so well 
Said goodbye to the North Wall 
And bid a fond farewell 
By the time I hit the smoke 
It was 1963 
I got a job doing meals on wheels 
Round NW3 
I was scring poor old grannies 
For a half a quid a week 
I was drunk and stoned and 
Smashed and blocked in NW3 
In the filth and piss they lived in 
They would sometimes hum an air 
Or talk in tongues of madness 
Keeping time upon the chair 
And for their wrists a numbered tab 
In Westminister morgue 
On a cold hard slab 
When I was still a young man 
In NW3 
At the top of the Pentonville Road 
I watched the sun setting 
The town spread out before me 
Looked beautiful to me 
Away from all the crying 
The suffering and the dying 
I dreamed of the future 
Of the young and the free 
But the years they slip by quickly 
Now I know I won't return here 
Where each day just brings me closer 
To that final misery 
My kids will never 
Scrape shit round here 
And I won't die 
Crying in a pint of beer 
Or eat their 
Stinking meals on wheels 
In NW3