These were our streets
The cobbles we walked
Parading like peacocks
While locals all talked
We were the new breed
The colourful sons
It had to start somewhere...
And we were the ones
Hair short and spikey
Alcohol breath
Our image perfected...
Looking like death
Banned from the buses
Banned from the shops
Banned from the night clubs
Watched by the cops
Records revived us
Keeping us sane
Guernsey disowned us
As we were not plain
We may have been different
We may not have fit
But we added colour
You have to admit
We were rejected
By the home that we knew
But it didn't take too long
Til we forgot about you
Many years later...
You still have your drunks
You still have your troubles
Yet you don't have your punks!
Duque and Youngo...
Still talked about now
We were bigger than Hugo...
And your boring old cow
It's not that I'm bragging
And my friend would agree
That your Island was dreary...
Without him and me
Ian Duquemin
