She talked to boys from the far side of town
And in a while one chose her
They paint her face, bringing gifts for her father
And shower her with roses
In the early days they used to laugh a lot
Now they don't even smile very often
And their eyes seldom meet
If they can help it
Urban tribal
The girl don't have an answer to your call
Urban tribal
She won't feed your babies anymore
She was the last in line
Ready to be taken for motherhood
Hand on Bible, distil the urban tribal
From her blood

She'll tell it all at confession tonight
One prayer for hope, one for pardon
The early moon and the glow from the power plant
Will light her way back to Harlesden