Getting Out of Here

From the high rise tower blocks
Where kids sit outside corner shops
They're dressed to kill in stilettos
While they eat their Cornetto's

And while I'm gone, please save the youth
Shout it out, don't hide the truth
'Cause Thatcher's kids and Blair's teenagers
They see themselves as total strangers

So I sit up here all alone
'Cause I'd rather be on my own
Then running 'round
With them idiots down there

So goodbye Piccadilly
And farewell Leicester Square
We've shared some special times
Now I'm getting out of here

Did you live out all your lifelong dreams
With custard creams by the coffee machines?
Or were there thoughts of, 'I don't want to be here'
Made worse by the weekends beer?