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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