Pam the Hawk

She walks the streets of Soho, every single day.
From dawn 'til dusk, always walks a different way.
Past every coffee bar, restaurant and pub,
In her clammy green palm, she'd turn over and rub
A few coppers, a nice handful of change.

But for a fiver she can and will arrange
A signed photo, a kiss, a nice warm hug.
Until over your shoulder, she spots another likely mug.
She'd be the richest woman, in all of the west end they say,

If every single penny earned she didn't spend.
In the bookies, on the horses, the Wardour Street arcade.
There's not a single fruit machine she hasn't played.
A toothless smile, laughs like a machine gun.

But when it comes to business, got all others on the run.
On anorak wings, that little bird of prey
She swoops, she dives, her prize carried away.

Pam the hawk.
Oh she'd be the richest woman in all of the west end
If every single penny earned she didn't spend
In the bookies, on the gee-gees, the Wardour Street arcade.
There's not a single fruit machine she hasn't played.

On anorak wings, a little bird of prey.
She swoops, she dives, her prize carried away.
Oh, Pam the hawk.