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He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.
Ah sey, ah want it short,Short back an' side,Ah tell him man, ah tell himWhen ah teck him aside,Ah sey, ah want a haircutAh can wear with pride,
Once everything was bigand you were small,but year after year your shadow crept up the wall and you grew tall.
Hello! thanks for callingI'm just off on my bikeThat's my room up thereTake a look if you like.
Tomorrow has your name on itIt's written up there in the skyAs you set out on a journeyin search of the How? and the Why?