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As I walked down the street past the Cathedral tower, The cold wind blew as the clock struck the hour, A red faced man runs out from a public venue, And he vomits out 10 pints all over his shoes. Continuing onward to the Market Place. Slumped over a bench is a man off his face. He’s done Mamba, or Spice, or Brown, or smack. His tracksuit gets soiled as he slides onto his back. Come to Darby! Hmmm Darby! Yeah Darby! Ooooooo Darby! Whoa Darby! Darby. Darby. Theres a man walking backwards past Glory Holes. Theres a Birds and a Greggs selling hot sausage rolls. Theres a stain from a dead tramp like the shroud of Turin. And a faint smell of sewers, rotting fish and bins! Years ago they burned down the assembly rooms, But at least we can still drink in Wetherspoons. You see here in Derby we love our cheap booze. And spending our time walking miles to the loos. Come to Darby! Hmmm Darby! Yeah Darby! Mmmyeah Darby! Whoa Darby! Darby. Come to Darby.