The Don

Thinking of poems of povertySitting with a tight clenched wrist, thinking how to gain authorityOh what a soft touch of a boyHe'd wander with pride to sell and keep visions to his selfVisions to his selfWe'd talk of treasures, and over-rated gamesWe'd steal the milk bottles, sneaking through the back round Jimmy's way.What we loved most of all, was sitting round the shop, while this poor boy was sitting all alone,Sitting all alonePondering times of sanctuaryHe was sitting taking his piano lessons, we were on half an EInvested life in medicine, had so much shit going on.Convinced he'd never win. Convinced he was a sin.We'd speak of women and cheaper carryoutsWe'd turn up to all the festivals, trying to bring down the touts,What we love the most of all was sittin' at the shop, while this young boy was sittin' all alone,Sittin' all aloneWe'd talk of treasures and overrated gamesWe'd steal the milk bottles, sneaking through the back round Jimmy's way.What we loved most of all, was sitting at the shop, while this poor boy was sitting all alone,Sittin' all aloneHe couldn't find none of his own kind, he didn't have none of his own kindYou should take interest in his mind, not spend all of his time wastin all his money and timeWhat we loved most of all was hanging round the shopWhat we loved most was sitting round the shopWhat we loved most was standing at the Dryburgh shop,What we loved the most was hanging round the shop while he was all alone