Thrilling, life instilling, riffs running
raw with a four bar back-beat repeat.
A voice cuts across the Atlanta
causing hairs on the neck to rise.
Softly spoken, hungry and haunted,
Gene - never daunted drives the show,
with Chicken, Bop, Stroll and Hop.
With smart suit, angst, and attitude,
Eddie plays the Gretsch.
Wrings its strings, and makes it retch,
punching, tricking, teasing bar-by-bar
Twenty Flight Rock from his guitar.
Twang of twelve-bar, for added echo,
all hail the Kingfisher wail.
From embers in Guildhalls,
to flames in Gaumonts and Granadas
fuelling rock 'n' roll fires.
To sweltering shows fans flock,
cool places to be seen and seeing.
In sharp suits and pleated skirts,
the scene electric, jive frenetic.
Lean, mean, the quiff, the riff,
black leather and leg-iron.
Gene, a real rock 'n' roller,
singing with a banshee wail
summons up Be Bop a Lula.
High kicks the microphone stand,
fans follow to his world and land.
The appreciative purr their pleasure
as Gene guns rock's rhythm hard
Eddie follows with disjointed clarity.
A raucous encore, the audience rise,
the cool cats plunge for the exit
and an open car door cocoon;
distance builds and taillights dim.