Bd7

Well the warm wind blew through the 60s

But it didn't blow much round here

Disappointment hidden in the jutting chin - 'we didn't want it all anyway'

White paint daubed on a gritstone wall, the words of the prophets told

And we smiled to ourselves every time we walked by

The junction up on All Saints Road

'It's a mean old scene'

It doesn't do much for business or the paper-crack West-End dream

The council took it down every now and again

But it was written up fresh and clean

Stick your head above the parapet

They're going to arrange to put you down

Bad stories in the clubs at night, scrap metal in a rusting town

'It's a mean old scene'

BD7 and October evenings of endless rain

The backed-up storm drains bubbling and hissing

And the cats all running for shelter, fur matted and drenched

Twenty-nine years on and nothing's changed

Though in the end they took it down stone by stone

But we're still laughing all the way to the edge

Of our beloved, unredeemable, desperate town

'It's a mean old scene'