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 did FBI
And tired young sax-players 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 you 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 a pint that you need, ask me again
From A Dead Beat To An Old Greaser Video (MV)
Tull Jethro - From A Dead Beat To An Old Greaser Lyrics
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
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 did FBI
And tired young sax-players 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 you 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 a pint that you need, ask me again
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 did FBI
And tired young sax-players 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 you 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 a pint that you need, ask me again
Writer: IAN ANDERSON
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management