What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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69
Waoh flying through the night in a beat up wagon
A mike stand up my jacksy
And give me a beer and I'll stand on a chair
And slip into something sexy
Waoh The Black Cat Woolwich, The Tiger's Head, The Cafe des Artistes
The Revolution and the Bag O' Nails, I'll see you down the Speak'
Well your Ma said you slept real good in your food last night
But you couldn't hold it down
But you broke up a real good fight
Ligging at the Old Marquee, spinning Jack a line
Even he knew better than me in sixty nine
Sixty nine, sixty nine
Sixty nine, sixty nine
On the road to Paradiso
Back of your head, got to pay some dues
Rugged looked down
As the Thames swallowed his life at the Boathouse, Kew
Hot girls, no AC, cheap TV, sleep on the floor
Hallelujah, what's a roadie, hush my baby sleep no more
Your Ma said you slept real good in your food last night
You couldn't hold it down
But you broke up a real good fight
Gigging at the Old Marquee, spinning Jack a line
Even he knew better than me in sixty nine