I m going up the Pool, from down the smoke below
to taste me mum s jam Sarnis and see our Aunty Flo,
The candy floss salesman watches ladies in the sand
down for freaky weekends in the hope that they ll be meeting
Mr. Universe.
The iron tower smiles down upon the silver sea
and along the golden mile they ll be swigging mugs of tea.
The politicians there who ve come to take the air
while posing for the daily press will look around and blame the mess
on Edward Pier.
There ll be buckets, spades and bingo, les, muscels, rainy days
seaweed and sand-castles, icy waves.
Deck-chairs, rubber dinghies, old vests, braces dangling down,
a sun-tanned stranded starfish in a daze.
We re going up the Pool from down the Smoke below
to taste me mum s jam Sarnis and see our Aunty Flo,
The candy floss salesman watches ladies in the sand
down for freaky weekends in the hope that they ll be meeting
Mr. Universe.
Oh, Blackpool, oh, Blackpool.