Come all ye strangers in this town,
and listen to my story
Like you, I once kept my head down,
but I was bound for glory:

I left my home when I was young,
and Jews like me were murdered
The sea was cruel; to Hartlepool,
like cattle, we were herded.

But I got myself a peddler's pack
and I tramped from place to place
Some said bad words behind my back,
and worse ones to my face.

At Stockton town, I fell in love,
and down to Leeds we came
To a market-stall, a roof above,
and money to our names.

It’s pins and needles, buttons, salt,
everything a penny
And soon my stall became a shop,
and one shop became many.

When I needed help, a partner came,
as swift as a dispenser
And he wrote his name beside my name,
and we were: Marks and Spencer!
So I could tell you, get on your bike,
don’t sit at home and hide
But it’s hard if you don’t have a bike,
and you don’t know how to ride.

But I’ll have you know, before I go,
though this place seems filled with dangers,
They won’t tell you, because it’s true:
this town was built by strangers!