We fell to the street, full of noise,
With a view to bring the dawn in.
But clashed with the Burtons' shirts
Who saw us as a chance for brawling.

Well, they'd shopped and shaved like brain-dead clones,
And bashed and bruised our skinny bones
For dressing slim and keeping shaggy heads.

The doormen took to their chips
While we fashionably took a pasting.
Then came down to give us a kick
From the doorway that we had laid in.

Well, it's wonderful and glorious
To have the shit kicked out of us
For dressing slim and keeping shaggy heads.