I remember seeing my first Greebo
It was on the bus to town
Swaythed in crusty denim
He lived by his own sound

I must have been 7 or 8
And was with me ma
Casting furtive glances over me shoulder
At the great gallah

His hair was strident
His beard was fierce
He stunk of hippy juice
My god i thought
By his lifestyle
I am preternaturally seduced

I'm guessing through
The mists o time
He must be pushing 70
I hope his life was happy
And his rockin was aplenty.