Caught up in the hussle,
City life can be a bussle.
When you have friends around,
You can paint the town.
Being the life of the party,
Or attend shows very arty.Rush hour is apon us,
All making a big fuss.
The constant squeal of brakes,
Cars rushing around the place.
Engine sounds of reving,
Bumpers are a bending.People seemingly rushing,
Each with their own fussing.
To buy this and that,
Stop for a quick chat.
Show off a suit or a dress,
Doing their best to impress.City empty people home,
Now I am all alone.
Noisy music from a club,
Where people sholders rub.
On the steet there's only dirt,
Blown along against the curb.Paper plastic floating by,
Cold dark buildings rising high.
Shops all barred up for the night,
This city is not a pretty sight.Written by Pete Barlow 03/07/2000>
Email : Pete Barlow