Hot Property. This ol' familiar neighbourhood is a'changing fast, The ol' solid landmarks quickly becoming a part of the past, This ol' suburb was once squalid blue-collar working class, This ol' place was home then, to us on the bones of our ass. Times were once when passing locals would all stop and meet, Share a smoke, hang out, have a chat on the corner of our street, One place where all Gods diverse children got on like a house afire, On Community Corner, where Nikes hang from the telephone wire. What sights we were wont to see we didn't want to see... The shady deals done 'neath the dark oaks spreading canopy; See the early morning hoodie guys, shrinking from the light? Passing on favours to the street gals returning after a hard night? But lately I've noticed most of the ol' gang have gone, As the rents went up- bless 'em- they too've moved on, And this
lowlocale which was once way too close to town Is lookin' up, so much investors are rushing in to tear it down. At first the ol' rundown villas were cheaply acquirable, Swiftly the ol' slumarea seems to have become desirable, But nowadays most hereabouts have rumbled their game- It's 'knock one down, then build ten- and all the same.' First, the best ol' house on the block went up for sale, A turreted faded Victorian, but picture perfect in every detail, The old guy who'd owned it could never have guessed That the new owner would stoop to doing his level best. This morning I see ol' Tom Cobleigh is selling out, and all, See the bright 'For Sale' sign, ten foot long, six feet tall? See the Builders van stop smokily in a screech of brakes? See the urgent call to one of his developing mates he makes? Already I can see, strolling by with tear filled eye They're building three-story eyesores to blot out the sky, And the shithouse right next door has just been sold, I fear I'll be be living in darkness, and my blood runs cold. Now the wise Council wants to choke back urban sprawl Not a day goes by that some realtor don't speculatively call, They all finally offer a pretty penny to get hold of our place- But first every twisted one of 'em will lie straight to your face. Yes, all things must change, be they for bad or good, Though change feels strange in this old crimeneighbourhood, See, another sharp-dressed man puts the Porsche in 'Park,' To hungrily prowl the streets, like the proverbial land shark. Now we say to all who come knocking... 'have a good day,' For this here's our 'umble home and here we aim to stay, Or perhaps 'tis high time for us to stick up our own sign? 'Kindly shove your purchase offer where the sun don't shine.'
'So once we knock it down, we can put up 20
boxesapartments in its place.'