Earth has not anything to show more dreary,
Blessed with the flocks of pigeons yearly.
A sight so effective in its dullness,
I do so yawn and I must confess,
The residents must have poor taste, or so I guess.
Pubs, railways, terrace roofs and tarmac,
And think I know what doth this city lack,
But a tree or a flower's back.
Ne'er did the sun bare London more,
So would it hide thy dirty city, I implore?
Ne'er saw I, never smelt I, a scent so whiffy!
That I had better leave, and pretty nifty:
Dear God! What tasteless architecture of modern;
So it is here that I should ne'er have trodden!