Growing Up And I'm Fine

Kenny pushed his hand through the kiosk window
and left a trail of blood for the fuzz:
A downbeat end to a Dagenham evening,
which took the edge right off my beer buzz.

We went to his mum's; told her not to worry;
all she said was 'stupid little git'.
Then Paul and me hoofed it to the hospital,
to see how deep he was in the shit.

The bugger was stitched up, surrounded by pigs,
waiting for him to wake up and squeal.
Paul went for a slash, outside in the car park,
up against an ambulance wheel.

I fucked off home and listened to Mick Ronson:
Nothing mattered when I grooved to his Gibson.