When Gerry was just a little kid
in the dark, cold, rain or wind
mother dragged him round the Glasgow streets
If it wasn't for you, I'd leave
mother Mary whispered him
They would wait outside, he’d fallen asleep
It was incredibly hard life
Father drank every Saturday night
Then he’d beat his sons and his wife
Mary gave him Scottish music
Father Joseph Irish boozing
And Gerry took them both – took them truly

Busking to the passers-by
on London Underground
Playing all day for a nickel and dime
Humblebums and Stealers Wheel
made millions to companies
Gerry never saw the royalties
Tied in the stealers’ deals
it took three long, long years
There was no music he could release
Back north on a goodnight train
I just had to get away
It was time to stop the whole fucking farce

Baker Street made him a star
But it wasn’t Gerry’s part
It was over before it really started
Fame and fortune, lots of money
Always one drink too many
City to city the silver bird was flying
There was no hope, wife Carla said
Otherwise I’d never have left
Gerry was down, drank himself to death

There’ll always be a little dreamer in me
He’s gonna give up the booze and settle down
in a quiet little town in Tuscany

Forget about everything