Lyrics From A Dead Beat To An Old Greaser - Asbo Slipz

From a dead beat
To an old greaser
Here's thinking of you
You won't remember
The long nights
Coffee bars
Black tights and
White thighs in shop windows
Where blonde assistants
Fully-fashioned a world
Made of dummies
With no mummies or
Daddies to reject them

When bombs were banned
Every Sunday
And the Shadows played FBI
And tired young sax-players
Sold their instruments of torture
Sat in the station
Sharing wet dreams
Of Charlie Parker
Jack Kerouac
Rene Magritte
To name a few
Of the heroes
Who were too wise for their own good
Left the young brood
To go on living
Without them

Old queers with
Young faces
Who remember your name
Though you're a dead beat
With tired feet
Two ends that don't meet
To a dead beat
From an old greaser
Think you must have me all wrong
I didn't care, friend
I wasn't there, friend
If it's the price of pint that you need
Ask me again