On a lone and windy hilltop beneath a roof of tin

In a little wallpapered bedroom I done my growin'.

'Twas there I dreamt my dreams, I hung my jeans

And wandered through my puberty as all do.



My mother was a tight nut bound up with false guilt

Strapped up in her fearing wall she had built.

The independent girl in a dark and cruel world

She'd lost the way to say, "OK, now lay back".



We disagreed on most things, I shouted peace and love

The family is mankind, the symbol of the dove.

She only saw the surface of things before her face

But I was young and argued on for hours.



My father he liked poetry, a scholar he might have made.

Had nothing, born a poor boy barefoot and underpaid

So the man worked with his hands up and down the land,

His dreams forgot he thought that I must follow.



With his marks as worker's wisdom he'd read a thing or two

He once had been a Mason but he never followed through.

Always kind and thoughtful, smelling of mushy oil

And he read me poetry of visionaries.



I flunk my way to college, a looser kind of school

But we bobbed and played time arty, feeling cool

Just to live an artists diggin' the ravin' scene

Reading Kerouac and Ginsberg well deuced.



I was not academic, Art and English neat,

The history of mankind I liked that a bit.

And what was I to do ? The choices they were few,

I done right disgrace to the working classes



I done right disgrace to the working classes

I done right disgrace to the working classes

I done right disgrace to the working classes