| Anto took me down to Whistler’s place
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| It was like a scene from a dream
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| Tarantulas, drapes, magic mushroom cakes
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| Sharks hanging from the beams
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| Dave Ruffian was there with a sad-eyed girl
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| And the son of Ringo Starr
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| It was a night like any other, man
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| At the Hammerhead, the Hammerhead, the Hammerhead Bar
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| Four beer-bellied roadies from Uriah Heep
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| Were comparing stomach tattoos
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| Two had Satan, one had Tam Paton
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| One had a belt-shaped bruise
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| In a spotlit corner a famous DJ
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| Was showing a starlet his scars
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| Yeah it was all for one and one for all
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| At the Hammerhead, the Hammerhead, at the Hammerhead Bar
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| Three groupies were gargling umbrella drinks
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| Under the eye of the Ox
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| The first said to the second about the third
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| «She's as square as a fucking box»
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| Viv Stanshall turned up on cue
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| With a pickled skull in a jar
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| There was always something intriguing to do
|
| At the Hammerhead, the Hammerhead, at the Hammerhead Bar
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| The local MP, a Tory grandee
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| Sir Bufton Fairbairn-Smart
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| Who dressed like a cross between Robert the Bruce
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| And Napoleon Bonaparte
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| Was busy murdering Billy Joel’s
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| «Just The Way You Are»
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| It was business as usual, sunny boys
|
| At the Hammerhead, the Hammerhead, at the Hammerhead Bar
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| On the stroke of midnight Whistler said
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| «Let us now toast the deceased!»
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| And he sank his snout in a stained-glass keg
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| Of alcohol and yeast
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| Nine Lithuanian dancing girls
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| Each sucking a fat cigar
|
| Jitterbugged along the beer-strewn top
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| Of the Hammerhead, the Hammerhead, of the Hammerhead Bar
|
| Those days are gone, those dancing days
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| Of bacchanal, of drink
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| Whistler sleeps with mermaids
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| Groupies are extinct
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| The famous DJ is doing time
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| For acts lewd and bizarre
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| And only dust remains, boys
|
| Of the Hammerhead, the Hammerhead, the Hammerhead Bar
|
| Of the Hammerhead Bar
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| Of the Hammerhead Bar
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| Of the Hammerhead Bar |