The Pogues

In the rosy parks of England
We'll sit and have a drink
Of VP wine and cider 'till we can hardly think
And we'll go where the spirits take us
To heaven or to hell
And kick up bloody murder in the town we love so well
Going transmetropolitan, Yip-ay-aye
From the dear old streets of Kings Cross
To the doors of the ICA
Going transmetropolitan, Yip-ay-aye
We'll drink the rat's piss, kick the shite
And I'm not going home tonight, Yip-ay-aye
From Brixton's lovely boulevards
To Hammersmith's sightly shores
We'll scare the Camden Palace poofs
And worry all the whores
There's lechers up in Whitehall
And queers in the GLC
And when we've done those bastards in
We'll storm the BBC
Going transmetropolitan, Yip-ay-aye
From Surrey Docks to Somers Town
With a KMRIA
Going transmetropolitan, Yip-ay-aye
We'll drink the rat's piss, kick the shite
And I'm not going home tonight, Yip-ay-aye
From a five-bob bet in William Hills