Through the rubble of the bombed out streets Through the squalor and the poverty Walks a proud Neapolitan girl With a head of thick black curls She doesn't care 'bout right or wrong Just about where the next meal's coming from
Innocence can often be Another one of war's casualties But innocence can be restored With a visit to the Professore For ten thousand lire he Can find mislaid virginity
His dirty needle leaves a trail of scars And keeps her at the peak of her sexual powers
She takes him riding on the 133 Through the city to the cemetery Where the Neapolitan girls go Down behind the headstones Oh the quickening breath and muffled cries As life and death become entwined
Now baby, just pretend you don't see 'em Lusting in the mausoleum
Lola has a lover in the city bank And Lola has a lover in the British ranks Well Lola has them over in the middle of the day Cause Lola makes the neighbours all jealous that way She doesn't care 'bout right or wrong Just about where the next meal's coming from Neapolitan girl Neapolitan girl