Newtown Boy

Sittin' on the gasbox, waitin'  for me dad.
He's at the pub. Fridays he celebrates
and puts on a funny voice.

Joy Pithers across the street, she's in kindergarten too.
I'll bet her dad is home. Never seen him but.
Dawn Keeler's father, the funeral man, he's rich.
They're gunna get a television
soon as they switch it on from America.
First thing will be Mickey Mouse.
I'll be seven then.

Joy Pithers kissed me, sittin' on the gasbox,
but I love Christine Parker
cause she's got long brown hair down to her bottom.
When she sits on the scripture mat
I make plaits for her and play with her red ribbons.

On Fridays Dad gets drunk and wobbles his bike down the side
but he always brings us fish and scallops,
fruit tingles, steam rollers, choo choo bars and cherry ripes.
I fight my sister for the green fruit tingles.

Other days, Dad puts me on his handlebars
- he made a seat for me -
and rides me up to the very end of Station Street
across the big road
and we watch the trains go past.
I wave to the guards and they wave back.

Sittin' on the gasbox I can see into Salmon Park
where the Dutch boy who called me a bloody basket
threw a rock and split my head open.
I didn't have to go to hospital but.
I shouldn't have called him a dago.

The street light just came on.
Now those big flying ants
will bump against the globe until they're fried.
Yesterday my tortoise died
after Mr Morris ran over it in his semi-trailer.

Here's my last green one.
I've been saving it for a week.
Fizzing in my mouth, tickling under my tongue.
I wish a car would come past.

Hey, I can smell fish and scallops.
I'm standing on the gasbox, waving.
It's my dad, on the old green bike.