Editing Floor Blues

I was born in the west-end

In the summer of '48

Above a small cafe

Some people liked to come there and call it night

But for me it was all day

Oh! Now the dogs keep a-growlin'

Round my front door

And the truth howled out from the editing floor

Years went by

Quarrymen came along

This boy became a star

Then he dropped - but got up again

With a black everly guitar

Then he searched along the road

A good song he was looking for

And the truth sang out from the editing floor

Big brother took a trip

As bold as he could be

To the place, he heard,

Where the good prophets used to walk

High above this dark world

Then the word came down

And the little brother saw

How the truth was buried on the editing floor

One 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 it

But they never printed that!

Just like socrates, the man from greece

Fell down on his knees

Said, lord! Forgive them please

Forgive them please

And he spoke no more

And the cup spilled out on the editing floor