©Word - Paul McEvoy

From Centre Point
To Marble Arch
Doing the rounds
His peacock march
He looks so cool
But his soul is parched
He's the King of Oxford Street

Up street and down
With nods to the wise
Bobbing and weaving
And lip service lies
Taking, receiving
Never say die
He's the King of Oxford Street

Midnight shades
After dark glasses
Pocket full of pills
And guest list passes
He knows all the birds
But they're always brasses
He's the King of Oxford Street

Slipping and sliding
And free drink riding
Keeps diving for gold
Wherever its hiding
In an infinity pool
that someone has died in
He's the King of Oxford Street



A taste for violence
Thinks he's got what it takes
Loves that rush of
Adrenaline shakes
Leads with his face
But thems the breaks
He's the King of Oxford Street

He won't do right
For doing wrong
His mind so warped
The demons so strong
He's a doomed rare bird
With a deadly swansong
Still the King of Oxford Street

Facing the wrong way
On life's escalators
Can't get up for down
Surrounded by traitors
Its time to check out
Maybe catch you later
Once the King of Oxford Street

A glint of gold teeth
In the cobbled street darkness
Dull sheen of the blades
And he's thinking ‘Fuck this’
Goes 'Dontcha know who I is?'
And a dark voice says 'Buttkiss...
We're the new Kings of Oxford Street'

Another alleyway slaughter
Left bleeding to death
Praying for mercy
But there's nothing left
Coughs up his soul and
Sucks his last ragged breath
See the new Kings of Oxford Street
See the new Kings of Oxford Street