I was born in the West-EndIn the summer of ’48Above a small CafeSome people liked to come there and call it nightBut for me it was all dayOh! Now the dogs keep a-growlin’Round my front doorAnd the Truth howled out from the editing floorYears went byQuarrymen came alongThis boy became a starThen he dropped – but got up againWith a Black Everly guitarThen he searched along the roadA good song he was looking forAnd the Truth sang out from the editing floorBig brother took a tripAs bold as he could beTo the place, he heard,Where the good Prophets used to walkHigh above this dark worldThen the Word came downAnd the little brother sawHow the Truth was buried on the editing floorOne day the papers rang us up,T’check if I said this?I said, “Oh boy!I’d never say that!”Then we got down to the truth of itBut they never printed that!Just like Socrates, the man from GreeceFell down on his kneesSaid, Lord! Forgive them pleaseForgive them pleaseAnd he spoke no moreAnd the cup spilled out on the editing floor

Great as the old days

How the Truth was buried on the editor's floor , amazing how they cut the truth right out .. so sorry Yusuf.. but a great song was written so the truth was told after all.. truth has a way of finding a way to be told and your songs always tell the story. Thank you

Nice tribute.

💖 thanks.

😍💘

People must know these masterpiece works of Cat's.