| He had eyes of the poor, wild and hungry
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| Stood out side of the store, shy and clumsy
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| Saw an electric guitar, he got hooked from the start
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| That’s what is did to the back street kid
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| It’s a dangerous game, might come to nothing
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| Very hard to explain, the pushing and the shoving
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| Still the sound in his ears and the many lean years
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| Taught him to live, back street kid
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| Dream, dream — back street kid
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| Dream, dream, dream, dream — back street kid
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| He spends hours on his own, he’s still learning
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| Learns to wait for the phone, ideas burning
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| And from liberty hall, he will rise or he’ll fall
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| That’s how he’ll live, the back street kid
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| Dream, dream — back street kid
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| Dream, dream, dream, dream — back street kid
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| He stepped into the rain, cold and empty
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| Whispered never again, I’m not contented
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| Walked off into the night, he walked far out of sight
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| So much to give, the back street kid
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| Dream, dream — back street kid
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| Dream, dream, dream, dream — back street kid |