The Generation Gap

Were all on the platform its quarter-to-eight

A handful of schoolboysour trains running late
But we couldnt care, oh no, not at all
Were scratching our names on the dusty brown wall.

The scene never changesits always the same

The people the posters, the station, the train,
The bloke with the hotdogs who walks up and down,
And that fat little bloke with the permanent frown.

Theres the woman who stands in her own special place

And stares at the railsnot a smile on her face.
Some people do crosswords and others read books
There are boring old adults wherever we look.

Now the books are all closing, the newspapers rustle

The trains coming in and theyre starting to bustle,
Then strangely, each one (every day its the same)
Walk down the old platform to get on the train.

We like to play chicken and last person in

The train starts to leave, but we all want to win.
We mustnt give inits our unwritten law
Then all of us suddenly bolt for a door.

We bundle aboardwhat a laughter, what a game!

The stick-in-the-muds dont agree and complain.
We think theyre so boring, so dull and so thick.
At least we like fun: get a thrill, get a kick.

I swear when Im older that Ill never be

A boring old twit like the adults I see.

Im down a the station its quarter-to-eight

I should be at work, but my trains running late.
Im thinking this grubby old place needs a clean
When a handful of schoolboys arrive on the scene.

They spit and they swear and they call us rude names
Theyre noisy, abusive and play silly games.
I find myself thinking, when I was a lad,
I simply had funI was never that had.

But all of a suddento my great dismay,

I recall that was just what my dad used to say.