The Angel, Islington

Intro

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Verse 1

Before the city swallowed up the fields and open air,

A humble alehouse stood right here, a refuge from despair.

They called it Sheepcote Inn back then, for drovers heading down

To push their livestock through the mud to wealthy Smithfield town.

Then came the year of sixteen-fourteen, Gabriel spread his wings,

The Angel Inn arose to guard the highway of the kings.

Chorus

Oh, meet me at The Angel where London starts in earnest,

Where the weary rest their horses and the fire burns the warmest!

From a perilous northern gateway on the Great North Road of old,

To a little property square of light blue and standard gold.

Verse 2

The highwaymen were lurking out in Highbury and the dark,

So travelers stayed a night or two before they made their mark.

Tom Paine sat by the fireplace with a feather and some ink,

While writing down the Rights of Man and pausing for a drink.

Young Oliver Twist walked weary through the crowded, dusty space,

Where the old world met the city at a frantic, rushing pace.

Chorus

Oh, meet me at The Angel where London starts in earnest,

Where the weary rest their horses and the fire burns the warmest!

From a perilous northern gateway on the Great North Road of old,

To a little property square of light blue and standard gold.

Bridge

The coaches faded out of view, the brickwork rose up high,

They rebuilt it in the Edwardian days with a dome against the sky.

By twenty-one, the Lyons tea was pouring hot and sweet,

And Waddington sat inside a booth and looked out at the street,

He placed a plaque upon the wall, a game for all to see—

The only house upon the board born out of history.

Outro

The bank may own the corner now, the pub has moved away,

But the ghost of the old Archangel watches over us today.

Yeah, London starts in earnest here...

At the Angel, Islington