It’s so easier to get into heaven
Than it is to escape from our street.
Cos’ at the end sits an old Launderette
Where all of our harridans meet.
There’s a great big plate glass window
Behind which they all sit in a row.
All eyeballing any silly old bugger
Who’s daft enough to pass by below.
So, be it a bet, a pint or a dalliance
It’s a wise thing not to be seen.
Cos’ every old crone in Lommashay
Will know where it is you have been!