Ian Anderson - From A Dead Beat To An Old Greaser lyrics

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 a**istants 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 F.B.I And tired young sax-players sold their instruments of torture --- Sat in the station sharing wet dreams of Charlie Parker Jack Kerouac, Ren'e 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