There you are Yoss with your comb-defying cowlick
Solved by long, much longer, hair complimenting
One day a Fender Stratocaster. For now you'd stick
To the one I loaned you when Barry Reid sang.
The one that would end up in Steve Howe's hands.
The one that would feature in all those rock bands.
I watched as a kitten ran up your leg in Penn Road
And caused you to cry as its claw bit in your head.
We joined Boy's Church together where you gave
Reverend W A F Lea the wonderful name "Flea."
He was anything but as he rode his 28" wheel bike
Along Penn Road where we also rode and raved.
We went with scouts and choristers on fun days
Out — like Rupert and his Friends — and then
Rock 'n' Roll arrived along with everything else.
And you clevery picked strings while I blew reeds
With the Barry Reid Five.
Wearing a bottle green military coat on stage
With a fag stuck on the end of your E-string
While seated on an old chair beneath where
A large pint of frothy ale sat silently amidst
The gale force sound of twang and dirty sax.
You smiled your unique Yossel smile while
The rest of us danced a merry dance on the
Stage before the throng of bobbing rockers.
Those were times that stick in the memory.
Of youthful ebullience, craziness and sweet
Faced girls with heavy mascara and fun.
So much fun — where has it all gone?
You were my chum.
Now you're dead,
And I feel like lead,
Yoss.
