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They called him Lawrence of Neasden
And he dressed in Khaki shorts
And he always rode a camel 
Which he kept in his car port

They arrived there in Central Neasden
Having ridden all through the night
To arrive with the breaking dawn
In a throat constricting sight.
Silently they rode, apart
From the harness jingle,
An eerie sort of sound 
That made nerves tingle.

It would take a certain type or person
Not to appreciate the solemn beauty
Of Lawrence and his Camel Corps
Returning from their tour of duty.
After months of selfless serving
On channel tunnel patrol
Ungrateful Government had decided
They no longer had a role.

Not a sound from any lip 
During that final parade
Just veterans progressing 
Proud of sacrifices made.
No civic service marked their passing,
No thanks from a grateful land,
No recognition of the contribution
Made by that devoted band:

Lawrence and his Camel Corps 
All volunteers to a man
Who never shirked their duty,
Never turned and ran,
In full parade order
Stood there to in final salute
To an ungrateful nation
That didn’t give a hoot.

Sometimes now in Central Neasden 
In the silence of the night
You can hear a creaking harness,
See the awe inspiring sight,
Of Lawrence and his camel
Carrying out a solemn ride
Ready and fit for action
That man of steel and pride.

They called him Lawrence of Neasden
And he dressed in Khaki shorts
And he always rode a camel 
Which he kept in his car port

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