All through the years every now and then

I’ve made my lists and packed my bag

To leave old Brentford town again,

And all my loves, sadly to drag

My things to trains, to cars, to coaches,

Going away to some far stage

Playing small parts; my heart reproaches

“You leave” – but I must earn a wage!

“You leave the sweetest one that’s been

In Brentford town or anywhere

Oh sad the day when she’s not seen

By her old lover, full of care

Burbling on a stage somewhere.”