View the thoroughfares bedecked with littered plight,
Why on the necks of youths, tattoos gleam in dusky light?
Carriages, flouting rules, on double yellow lines reside,
Betting dens and barber shops, swell with a bustling tide.

Other market stalls, alas, stand barricaded, just look,
And fair dames, in slippers tread to McDonalds, not to cook.
Maidens in leggings, as if painted on, so tight,
Their forms emboldened, a spectacle of the night.

The Pyramids’ emporium still doth stand,
Yet M&S and Beatties have left the land.
Birkenhead market persists with its trading array,
Though Camel Laird's fortune hath ebbed away.

At Greggs, the throng doth wait for sausage roll.
Turning tobacco's leaf in parchment is their goal.
By tavern's door, some mortals in conversation stand,
One with a vessel, filled with liquid gold in sturdy hand.

Mater, why doth that drunkard gaze upon our skin?
Hush, child, engage them not, lest entanglements begin.
Three youthful souls in hooded cloaks, on cycles flee apace,
Pursued by a stick-wielding fellow, a frenetic chase to face.

Take care, for mobility scooters off their path may veer,
By their wheels, our misfortune may draweth near.
On corners wide, where pathways meet the eye,
Abundant numbers of charitable emporiums do lie.

The Mersey's tunnel mouth, a ceaseless stream,
Day and night, carriages emerge, as in a dream.
At Hamilton Square, a chariot of fire doth find its end,
An underground voyage, and steps to ascend.

The King’s constables, in twos, their vigil keep,
Watchful their chariot becomes not a burning heap.
In fair Rock Ferry, good fellows and villains do ensconce,
And where graffiti’s hand hath etched upon a wall ‘Nello is a Nonce.’