Rolling into london
There's traffic everywhere
I need to earn some money
I need to find a fare
Scouring busy pavements
With an Eagle eye
Seeking out a needy face
With their hand held high
Other cabs go back and forth
With punters all aboard
There must be one out there for me
Among this seething horde
And then as if by magic
A hail is proffered forth
I wonder where he's going to
East South West or North
It doesn't really matter though
It makes no odds to me
I'll take them anywhere they want
Cos that's my job you see
So with a cheerful smile I say
"where you off to mate"
He wants the Netherlands embassy
Which sits in Hyde Park Gate
In he gets and off we go
The traffics looking iffy
But this cabby has The Knowledge, see
So we arrive there in a jiffy
He pays the fare and thanks me
For a nice efficient trip
And a happy glow envelops me
Despite the lack of tip!
So now I'll find another fare
To keep me good and happy
And that's the end of my poem
About being a London cabbie.
Peace x
