"It Ain't Yours Anymore" lyrics

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah-ah

Would you call Epsom races with hordes of white faces
Racist or chavvy or worse?
And who calls a member of Parliament caught
By Hampstead Heath police perverse

Would you call Royal Ascot a meat market
Like you do the places we go?
'Cause Henley Regatta, it don't really matter
The yacht you got, but who you know

It's always Oxford versus Cambridge
A boat race but much, much more
Try turning up at Putney Bridge
And soon you'll get to know the score

You're Chelsea, you're Palace, you're Fulham
But your feet won't touch the floor
You sing, "This city's yours", alright
Afraid it ain't yours anymore

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah-ah

You call the folk beneath plastic, fake, or cheap
Apart from particular class
Their vocal cords ruined by yelling, "Whose streets?"
But happy kissing honourable ass

Whenever we go clubbing in a short dress
You're the first to label and think
Why do fools fall outta cabs
And who let the lower class drink?

It's always Oxford versus Cambridge
A boat race but much, much more
Try turning up at Putney Bridge
And soon you'll get to know the score

You're Chelsea, you're Palace, you're Fulham
But your feet won't touch the floor
You sing, "This city's yours", alright
Afraid it ain't yours anymore

I've seen West Ham and Orient, seen Millwall, QPR
Sing, "This city's ours", as they are fuck-munched at the bar
You sing, "This city's yours", never will be, never was
And any claim you have to it ain't serious, because
City's only yours to claim when your daughter's crossing street
And neither roving eyes, or predator, nor whistle does she meet

It's always Oxford versus Cambridge
A boat race but much, much more
Try turning up at Putney Bridge
And soon you'll get to know the score

You're Chelsea, you're Palace, you're Fulham
But your feet won't touch the floor
You sing, "This city's yours", alright
Afraid it ain't yours anymore
Afraid it ain't yours anymore
Afraid it ain't yours anymore