Jethro Tull - From a dead beat to an old greaser

From a dead beat to an old greaser, here's thinking of you.
You won't remember the long nights:
Coffee bars, black lights and wgithe thighs
In shop windows where blond 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, René Magritte to name aa few of the heroes
Who were too young for their own good - left the youn brood to
Go on living without them.

Old queers with young faces - who rememer 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 don't care, friend. I wasn't there, friend.
If it's the price of pint that you need, ask me again.