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London Pride has been handed down to us, |
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London Pride is a flower that's free. |
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London Pride means our own dear town to us, |
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And our pride is forever will be. |
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Whoa, Liza, |
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See the coster barrows, |
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The vegetables and the fruit piled high, |
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Oh, Liza, |
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Little London sparrows, |
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Covent Garden Market where the costers cry. |
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Cockney feet |
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Mark the beat of history. |
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Every street pins a memory down. |
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Nothing ever can quite replace |
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The grace of London Town. |
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There's a little city flower, |
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Ever spring unveiling, |
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Growing in the crevices, |
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By some London railing. |
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Though it has a Latin name |
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In town and countryside, |
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We in England call it |
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London Pride. |
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London Pride has been handed down to us, |
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London Pride is a flower that's free. |
|
London Pride means our own dear town to us, |
|
And our pride it forever will be. |
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Hey, lady, |
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When the day is dawning, |
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See the policeman yawning |
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On his lonely beat. |
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Gay lady, |
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Mayfair in the morning, |
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Hear your footsteps echo |
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In the empty street. |
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Early rain, |
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And the pavement's glistening, |
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All Park Lane |
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In a shimmering gown. |
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Nothing ever could break or harm |
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The charm |
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Of London Town. |
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In our city, darkened now, |
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Street and square and crescent, |
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We can feel our living past |
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In our shadowed present. |
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Ghosts beside our starlit Thames |
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Who lived and loved and died |
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Keep throughout the ages |
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London Pride. |
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London Pride has been handed down to us, |
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London Pride is a flower that's free. |
|
London Pride means our own dear town to us, |
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And our pride it forever will be. |
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Grey city, |
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Stubbornly implanted, |
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Taken so for granted |
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For a thousand years. |
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Stay, city, |
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Smokily enchanted, |
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Cradle of our memories, |
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Of our hopes and fears. |
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Every Blitz, |
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Your resistance toughening. |
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From the Ritz |
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To the Anchor and Crown, |
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Nothing ever could override |
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The pride |
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Of London Town. |