The Mancunian Way

When it says ‘Welcome to Manchester’,

It’s not more poor and huddled masses, mate,

On these estates.

We’ve plenty going spare.

It’s your misfits and your don’t fits,

The rabble and the roused,

The soused.

Those with and without a prayer.

There’s every sort of lads and lasses, mate,

Round our estate,

And they come from everywhere.

They’re free to be who they need to be,

The quiet and the loud,

The proud,

Those who thought no one cared.

If you know your chemical structure of gasses, mate,

How they change state,

Or if you just breathe the air .

The know it alls and the know nowts

They can all get down

In town

At the Ritz, see you Monday, yeah?

You might want to overthrow the ruling classes, mate,

Or simply create,

Something truly rare.

And be your weird, and very queer’d

Sweet self for the crowd,

Wear the gown!

Put stardust in your hair.

We take them all in, the wanderers,

The outcasts, the cast offs, the lost, the stray,

The rebel, the runaway.

We give them a bed and a meal,

A cup of tea and say,

Come back soon, our kid.

And we tell them, each and every one,

If you’re alright, then you can stay.

And if you stay, then this is your home.

If this is your home, you’re one of us.

Alright, our kid?