Red sky at night means that there'll be a fight.
Red sky in the morning is a police-siren-warning.
Low, black clouds that hug to the rooftops.
Serial killers are loose, with guns to go shoot cops.
Citizens look round, waiting for rebound.
Children are playing, while others are slaying.
War in the peacetime, hate in the loving,
When kiss turns to hatred and a hug to a shoving.
This is London, that low-lying huntsman,
Out for a prowling, low purr a-growling.
And yet it is home for so many a soul.
Lovers and children and crims on parole.
This is London, a never-preached sermon.
Strange and fantastic and full of eccentrics.
For some it is home, for others a jail.
But a claim to hate it will be to no avail.
This is London, no matter what you see -
There's just something about it inside you and me.