At The Cafe

At The Cafe

You dare not talk very loud when you walk past the café
For they all swing round if you make a sound at the café
The lucky lads have found their roots
Discussing cars and mohair suits
And the number one has the biggest boots
At the café

The place to go if you wanna know is the café
But be sure you’re strong or you won’t last long at the café
Can this be the land that Milton trod
Where the language spoken is strictly mod
And the guy with the biggest chopper’s God?
At the café

Down at the café where the jukebox plays soul
You can drink Pepsi Cola or eat a stale roll
You can smoke like a bloke, you can joke
And swearing’s not barred
But best of all, you can look hard

So crop your hair if you’re going there to the café
And you’ll know you’re king of everything at the café
Make sure you walk with a swaying gait
And tell your bird that Aretha’s great
And play the pinball with your mate
At the café

Peter L Simons – March 1969

OI!two dog rolls and a cuppah T mate ,oi look its bronco bullfrog ,i done a few jobs wiv im, where ja fink e got dose daisy from !blackmans i fink ,where you offta later mate .I'm taking me bird to the Rex, in the 10/6 ers.oh yer, den i'll spoill er to a wimpey .ok mate see ya later! up de ammers!!! oh yes an ACAB!! haha tattar mate
a cafe in stratford east london called the pie crust, much talk of birds, bovver,aggro,and reggae from days long gone

>much talk of ...aggro,and reggae

was everybody kung fu fighting?

them cats was fast as lightning!

one love
jah bill

merry xmas to you penny

that about summed up those days JB more talk than lightning though