From a Dead Beat to an Old Greaser Songtext
von Jethro Tull

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 mommies 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, René 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.