| There’s a crazy sense of duty
|
| As he licks between his fingers
|
| Wipes the ketchup from his face and hands
|
| There’s a strong determination
|
| That his teachers never witnessed
|
| Never close enough to understand
|
| He’s like a bull just bred for fighting
|
| He don’t deliver nothing
|
| Outside the only thing that he knows
|
| School report just says he’s lazy
|
| His brother says he’s crazy
|
| But take a look 'cos there he goes
|
| Through the avenues of fashion
|
| To the palaces of dreams
|
| All the way down Guitar Street
|
| To some guitars are hot-rods
|
| All along the quest for macho
|
| To others a would-be ticket out of town
|
| For Joe a six-string sten gun
|
| In the 'Panto-revolution'
|
| And Stevie’s all just strictly sound
|
| He’s like a bull just bred for fighting
|
| He don’t deliver nothing
|
| Outside the only thing that he knows
|
| School report just says he’s lazy
|
| His brother says he’s crazy
|
| But anyway take a look 'cos there he goes
|
| Through the avenues of fashion
|
| To the palaces of dreams
|
| All the way down Guitar Street |