Your mother has broad shoulders and her arms were made for hugging -
Sadly no defence against your charmless heart-string tugging.
Though she bites her Civil tongue, I hear her heart is breaking
At the awful small town liberties her clumsy son is taking.

She nurtured you from boy to man, ensured you had the chances
Meanwhile, you took everything she had and still take her for granted
Your mother only ever wanted what was best for you.
How could she know all you ever wanted was to scarper to the country?

As crimes against your mother go, I can't think of a worse one
Starting your new family, you have betrayed the last one!
Thinking of a family, I guess that counts for something
But I'd rather a vasectomy than raise kids country bumpkins.

If Mum's lucky, once or twice a year you will appear, coming
Out of hiding, boasting that your life's now so much better
And even though her world has changed and you belong no longer
She welcomes you - the Prodigal, though you're no more of a lodger

And that's no way to treat your mum, so we do it to London?
Now you're nothing but a ghost at most, proud Thames will keep on rolling
And I'll stay here for ever, it's my home not cos I'm right on;
And if I was pretentious, don't you think I would move to Brighton?
I am not a Londonista, no, it's just you who's frightened.