Mr. Richard

Saw a suit in Daddy’s wardrobe, I took a swipe
Lapels, size of islands, gangster white line pinstripe
Laughed off the street in the name of my rock 'n' roll

Ah, still a caterwauling groove will start off vacation
Eighties plastic soul don’t give palpitation
Richie, he no like, he call out the firing squad

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Richie look for suede, me I look for leather
Sartorially we groove, occasional disaster
Tight black canvas no make for a straight legged sixties scenester

Then we hit the street with poise of commando
Clothes, guitar but arsenal missing one thing
Exotic Glasgow chick, they call her the "Carmen Veranda"

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Me and Richie dream to be like Mr. Richard
Strung out secure, yes, we make like junkie
Hooked up on that stuff they call it the rock 'n' roll

I need to consecrate, I need consecration
Clipped and soulful guitar riffing out the nation
The nation in my head the national sixties sensation

Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
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