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The old Rocker wore his hair too long,
wore his trouser cuffs too tight.
Unfashionable to the end, drank his ale too light.
Death’s head belt buckle, yesterday’s dreams,
the transport caf’ prophet of doom.
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
in his post-war-babe gloom.

Now he’s too old to Rock’n’Roll but he’s too young to die.

He once owned a Harley Davidson and a Triumph Bonneville.
Counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs
and prays that he always will.
But he’s the last of the blue blood greaser boys
all of his mates are doing time:
married with three kids up by the ring road
sold their souls straight down the line.
And some of them own little sports cars
and meet at the tennis club do’s.
For drinks on a Sunday, work on Monday.
They’ve thrown away their blue suede shoes.

Now they’re too old to Rock’n’Roll and they’re too young to die.

So the old Rocker gets out his bike
to make a ton before he takes his leave.
Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner
just like it used to be.
And as he flies, tears in his eyes,
his wind-whipped words echo the final take
and he hits the trunk road doing around 120
with no room left to brake.

And he was too old to Rock’n’Roll but he was too young to die.
No, you’re never too old to Rock’n’Roll if you’re too young to die.



Well, it’s one for the money,
Two for the show,
Three to get ready,
Now go, cat, go!

But don’t you step on my blue suede shoes.
You can do anything but lay off of my blue suede shoes.

Well, you can knock me down,
Step in my face,
Slander my name
All over the place.

Do anything that you want to do, but uh-uh,
Honey, lay off of my shoes!
Don’t you step on my blue suede shoes.
You can do anything but lay off of my blue suede shoes.

You can burn my house,
Steal my car,
Drink my liquor
From an old fruit jar.

Do anything that you want to do, but uh-uh,
Honey, lay off of my shoes
Don’t you step on my blue suede shoes.
You can do anything but lay off of my blue suede shoes.



The warden threw a party in the county jail.
The prison band was there and they began to wail.
The band was jumpin and the joint began to swing.
You shouldve heard those knocked out jailbirds sing.
Lets rock, everybody, lets rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancin to the jailhouse rock.

Spider murphy played the tenor saxophone,
Little joe was blowin on the slide trombone.
The drummer boy from illinois went crash, boom, bang,
The whole rhythm section was the purple gang.
Lets rock, everybody, lets rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancin to the jailhouse rock.

Number forty-seven said to number three:
Youre the cutest jailbird I ever did see.
I sure would be delighted with your company,
Come on and do the jailhouse rock with me.
Lets rock, everybody, lets rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancin to the jailhouse rock.

The sad sack was a sittin on a block of stone
Way over in the corner weepin all alone.
The warden said, hey, buddy, dont you be no square.
If you cant find a partner use a wooden chair.
Lets rock, everybody, lets rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancin to the jailhouse rock.

Shifty henry said to bugs, for heavens sake,
No ones lookin, nows our chance to make a break.
Bugsy turned to shifty and he said, nix nix,
I wanna stick around a while and get my kicks.
Lets rock, everybody, lets rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancin to the jailhouse rock.



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