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A BRIGHTON BALLAD
by
Colin West

'Tell us, tell us, Grandad,
How off you went to war,
And fought the Battle of Brighton
In 1964 ...'

Well, we rode down on our scooters
On that Bank Holiday,
We tooted on our hooters
And folk got out the way!

Our headlights were a-gleaming,
Our mirrors, they were too:
On each and every aerial
A Union Jack we flew.

Now, when we got to Brighton
And went along the Prom,
There came a hoard of Rockers,
Lord only knows where from!

I'll tell you of them Rockers --
They drove us up the pole,
'Cos we liked Motown music,
While they liked rock 'n' roll.

And up against that rabble,
They weren't a pretty sight,
With bottles at the ready
And looking for a fight ...

It started with some jeering
(It might have been the booze),
Then someone yelled a war cry
And soon all hell broke loose.

We set about them Rockers
(We didn't know no fear!)
We pelted them with pebbles
And chased them up the pier.

But as I grabbed one greaser,
His girlfriend took offence:
She hit me on the helmet
And left a lot of dents.

I fell, but that fair lady,
She held me in her arms,
She cradled me and told me
She hadn't meant no harm.

'Twas then I had a vision,
And saw that it was wrong
To pick a fight with someone
When folk should rub along.

We slipped away together
(She gave her boy the boot),
With her dressed in her leathers
And me in my mod suit.

And being with that woman,
My new life soon began:
The next year we got married:
That girl is now your nan!

"Thank you, thank you, Grandad,
For telling us once more
Of how you met our granny
In 1964!"
 
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