Bus Stop on Uxbridge Road


Wot you call it? Urban? Each night here there’s a show,

Man’s on … he’s gonna get that money he’s owed,

Every night a different fight, at the bus stop on Uxbridge Road.

Blue northern lights, blinded by, sparked-up and glowed

against flammable cladding. 2-step? Newsagent bloke, built like a shit load

of bricks, holds each skull 2 steps away, he talks a London code.


It’s a London thing. Are you mad? Drinking in the West End.

Vodka knockouts in Lemonade cups with Mackie-D’s straws to bend

and chew down, save for the urinal tops, pub cash to spend (pow!)

Jump the bus from here, or hop in Tony’s new motor,

It’s an SR Nova, he’s a stoner, joker, smoker, (or get on the Northern Line),

The sirens are calling, well your mother did warn yer.


Westfield shoppers and footy fans brawling,

Drunkards and QPR (has it come to this?) stalling

the flow of traffic, it’s shutdown on this street. Falling

inside extensions of fried chicken, proper garage girl witty,

“ring ring pussy,” they bait as he slows, tries to play pretty

but no shades, nothing comes between me and my city.