Some of them came from Belfast
Some of them from Luton town
Though they could never see it
We were always knocking around
We played guitar with the best of them
Now it seems they’re all dead
We played until our grey hairs grew
We played with them in our heads

We played with them in arenas
We played in working men’s clubs
We strutted our stuff in stadiums
We played with them in pubs
We studied very note they sang
And every lead they led
We played until our hairs were grey
We played with them in our heads

Whenever the machinery was noisy
Whenever the rows were mad
Whenever the dole queues grew longer
Whenever the love went bad
Wo played it on the last bus home
We played it in our bed
We played it till our hair turned grey
We played it in our heads

When the system was failing
When we got pushed about
When we were made to wait around
Or forced to shut our mouths
We played every note we knew
To every solo we were wed
We played until our hair turned grey
We kept it in our heads