Interpret:

Jethro Tull

Album:

Too Old To Rock'n'Roll; Too Young To Die

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 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.