Cheerful pit of grime and litter,
Mosque and temple ethnic glitter,
Where the muggers are much fitter,
Peaceful Luton Town.
Here, where arguments are petty,
Stanley knife and sweet machete,
Separate mere boy from yeti,
And the weak stay down.
In the home of cars and hatters,
Only cash and bad taste matters,
Even grossest censure flatters,
Symbols on its walls.
This, the town where one can rent a
Mob that's nearly pure placenta,
Leaking through the Arndale Centre's
Plastic shopping malls.