The black girls of Peckham are the coolest cats in town
They wear the tightest jeans and skirts and glitter in their hair
Gold rings and silver buckles and a self-confident air
And never walk but proudly strut, mistresses of the square
And every man who sees them hangs twixt longing and despair.
If only I had seen before, if only I had known
When I was young and could at least vie for their attention
But now I’m nothing but a paltry raincoat on a stick
And if they could read my thoughts, they’d laugh at my pretension.
Truth is they don’t notice me but if they did they’d think
That I’m just another elderly, colonialist white prick.
Fuck off they’d say, leave us in peace, we want real men
And they’d be right but still I dream what I will do with them
The black girls of Peckham, when I am young again.