"Busker's Paradise" lyrics
The devastated early bird's been beaten by the wind
He tried to get the A16, another lesson learned
Now he can't be on the main street catching all the Primark trains
There's a bastard selling phone cases and sheltered from the rain, and it's
All he knows
So now he's lost all choices, left to pitch up near the station
Between the pub that's long shut down and the British Art Foundation
Where pensioners move slowly and protesters bully migrants
With artwork on the shore of the shops depicting violence, and he's
All alone
And this old town is falling down
Familiar cars still turn around
As the people passing by get by with an unsung life
Cause this old town is falling down
Copper coins rain to the ground
Is it all or nothing walking in the busker's paradise?
Here comes the Irish Jacket, thumbs tucked tightly in his vest
With community support and words that warrant you respect
While chasing with a notepad he's got data to collect
From the man outside the market place discarding cigarettes, but he's
Talking on the phone
A simple four chord turnaround with a voice that goes unheard
With 4 pound 63 inside a black bag by the curb
Intoxicated characters can't help but take a look
There's a woman in a wheelchair with an old rib custard cup, and she's
Trying to make it home
And this old town is falling down
Familiar cars still turn around
As the people passing by get by with an unsung life
Cause this old town is falling down
Copper coins rain to the ground
Is it all or nothing walking in the busker's paradise?
The sun sets on a quiet street, the pubs now come alive
A trader in the shadows dealing out a bag for life
From perfume to detergent, razor blades or melba toast
Or a discount leg of lamb to host the perfect Sunday roast
And as he keeps on playing, he's now featured on the spot
By women dressed in L-plates with a veil to tie the knot
And after one rendition they drop 20 and the pot
And straight back into La Brooks where he'll lose the fucking lot
And this old town is falling down
Familiar cars still turn around
As the people passing by get by with an unsung life
Cause this old town is falling down
Copper coins rain to the ground
Is it all or nothing walking in the busker's paradise?
He tried to get the A16, another lesson learned
Now he can't be on the main street catching all the Primark trains
There's a bastard selling phone cases and sheltered from the rain, and it's
All he knows
So now he's lost all choices, left to pitch up near the station
Between the pub that's long shut down and the British Art Foundation
Where pensioners move slowly and protesters bully migrants
With artwork on the shore of the shops depicting violence, and he's
All alone
And this old town is falling down
Familiar cars still turn around
As the people passing by get by with an unsung life
Cause this old town is falling down
Copper coins rain to the ground
Is it all or nothing walking in the busker's paradise?
Here comes the Irish Jacket, thumbs tucked tightly in his vest
With community support and words that warrant you respect
While chasing with a notepad he's got data to collect
From the man outside the market place discarding cigarettes, but he's
Talking on the phone
A simple four chord turnaround with a voice that goes unheard
With 4 pound 63 inside a black bag by the curb
Intoxicated characters can't help but take a look
There's a woman in a wheelchair with an old rib custard cup, and she's
Trying to make it home
And this old town is falling down
Familiar cars still turn around
As the people passing by get by with an unsung life
Cause this old town is falling down
Copper coins rain to the ground
Is it all or nothing walking in the busker's paradise?
The sun sets on a quiet street, the pubs now come alive
A trader in the shadows dealing out a bag for life
From perfume to detergent, razor blades or melba toast
Or a discount leg of lamb to host the perfect Sunday roast
And as he keeps on playing, he's now featured on the spot
By women dressed in L-plates with a veil to tie the knot
And after one rendition they drop 20 and the pot
And straight back into La Brooks where he'll lose the fucking lot
And this old town is falling down
Familiar cars still turn around
As the people passing by get by with an unsung life
Cause this old town is falling down
Copper coins rain to the ground
Is it all or nothing walking in the busker's paradise?
Writer(s): Jonathan Yerrell, Joseph Kennedy O'Brien, Jamie Aarron Todd, Lee Andrew Holland
