Early years Were a shroud man Only a grey cloud Shot in the dark Hanging out With your dad His plans for revenge In some hick-town Caravan park Never keep A good one down Early years Were a dreadnought Waiting to tread board And my work Down the pan Hanging round By the back door One foot in The stage door Some disaffected Fly-by man
Got wired by a cable Got wild on a table Scared the shit out of me All for the free state The snow and The greasepaint I left the singing family
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