1975, all the young dudes were becoming a tad cynical, punk was just around the corner and the glam thing was running out of sequins . . . . Quo, Slade, BTO, Bad Co were going great guns, Dark Side of the Moon was all over the charts, 10cc were feigning not to be in love and David Essex was gonna make us a star, arh ahh . . . . I'm just blithering, been to a winemakers lunch, back home and feeling nicely pissed . . . . this fuck off ditty from Ian Hunter, ex Mott the Hoople, had me from 'ello, the way it builds, the story he tells in that Cockney drawl, not to mention Ronson, one of the most overlooked axemen in rock history, cranking away . . . . fucking magnificent !!!!
There's a Bowie connection to this as well, he wrote it, or farted in the studio after doing 15kg of nose candy or somesuch . . . . I give up, you do the research, I'm not giving away all the UFI [Useless Fucking Information] it's taken me a lifetime of madness and passion to accumulate for nothing every time I put finger to keyboard . . . . play the bloody song for God's sake and then bugger off, I'm off to the pub to continue drinking . . . . later.
There's a Bowie connection to this as well, he wrote it, or farted in the studio after doing 15kg of nose candy or somesuch . . . . I give up, you do the research, I'm not giving away all the UFI [Useless Fucking Information] it's taken me a lifetime of madness and passion to accumulate for nothing every time I put finger to keyboard . . . . play the bloody song for God's sake and then bugger off, I'm off to the pub to continue drinking . . . . later.
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