The life of London is made of zones,
The commute is enacted by local drones.
What is the medium of transport you ask?
Train, tram and even bus pass.
Like sardines the commuters on trains are packed,
They have the fear of being late or even getting sacked!
Brush they do from genitals to bottom,
Oh how to feel that gentlemans cotton.
The commute can vary from zones 1 to 9,
The price they charge is a bloody crime!
It may not be as luxurious as a Rolls Royce,
But the people of London have no bloody choice!
Our wallets it does hoister,
This is the land of Oyster.