I thought they said neat when the schoolkids called me mate,
I went home and told my mum after my first date,
I hadn’t long arrived from Ireland, the boy Kevinine,
Generations before Wolverhampton hadn’t seen,
We talked of America, the music and the life,
Peter was the leader, he taught me how to fight,
My life in England,
I can remember St Theresa’s social where «Kevin Barry» rang out,
My mum whispered to me «Kevin, In England that song is not allowed»
I felt awake but at the same time romantic, cut off and misty eyed,
Their faces are so pained and melancoly, with smoke clouds on the side.
My Life in England,
Later in London, ten year old Kevinine,
I wondered how things might have been if they’d stayed,
The scruffy kids and the faces that I knew,
Cos accents like mine, in Harrow there were few,
I learned to talk more cockney but thought about the Wolves,
The sound of wolverhampton, it’s toughness and «the doug»,
My Life In England
