| Song | Memo from Turner |
| Artist | The Rolling Stones |
| Album | Singles Collection: The London Years |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Lyrics:Jagger/Richards Music:Jagger/Richards | |
| Didn't I see you down in San Antone on a hot and dusty night? | |
| We were eating eggs in Sammy's when the black man there drew his knife. | |
| Aw, you drowned that Jew in Rampton as he washed his sleeveless shirt, | |
| You know, that Spanish-speaking gentlemen, the one we all called 'Kurt.' | |
| Come now, gentleman, I know there's some mistake. | |
| How forgetful I'm becoming, now you fixed your bus'ness straight. | |
| I remember you in Hemlock Road in nineteen fifty-six. | |
| You're a faggy little leather boy with a smaller piece of stick. | |
| You're a lashing, smashing hunk of man; | |
| Your sweat shines sweet and strong. | |
| Your organs working perfectly, but there's a part that's not screwed on. | |
| Weren't you at the Coke convention back on nineteen sixty-five | |
| You're the misbred, grey executive I've seen heavily advertised. | |
| You're the great, gray man whose daughter licks policemen's buttons clean. | |
| You're the man who squats behind the man who works the soft machine. | |
| Come now, gentleman, your love is all I crave. | |
| You'll still be in the circus when I'm laughing, laughing on my grave. | |
| When the old men do the fighting and the young men all look on. | |
| And the young girls eat their mothers meat from tubes of plasticon. | |
| Be wary of these my gentle friends of all the skins you breed. | |
| They have a tasty habit - they eat the hands that bleed. | |
| So remember who you say you are and keep your noses clean. | |
| Boys will be boys and play with toys so be strong with your beast. | |
| Oh Rosie dear, doncha think it's queer, so stop me if you please. | |
| The baby is dead, my lady said, 'You gentlemen, why you all work for me?' |
| Lyrics: Jagger Richards Music: Jagger Richards | |
| Didn' t I see you down in San Antone on a hot and dusty night? | |
| We were eating eggs in Sammy' s when the black man there drew his knife. | |
| Aw, you drowned that Jew in Rampton as he washed his sleeveless shirt, | |
| You know, that Spanishspeaking gentlemen, the one we all called ' Kurt.' | |
| Come now, gentleman, I know there' s some mistake. | |
| How forgetful I' m becoming, now you fixed your bus' ness straight. | |
| I remember you in Hemlock Road in nineteen fiftysix. | |
| You' re a faggy little leather boy with a smaller piece of stick. | |
| You' re a lashing, smashing hunk of man | |
| Your sweat shines sweet and strong. | |
| Your organs working perfectly, but there' s a part that' s not screwed on. | |
| Weren' t you at the Coke convention back on nineteen sixtyfive | |
| You' re the misbred, grey executive I' ve seen heavily advertised. | |
| You' re the great, gray man whose daughter licks policemen' s buttons clean. | |
| You' re the man who squats behind the man who works the soft machine. | |
| Come now, gentleman, your love is all I crave. | |
| You' ll still be in the circus when I' m laughing, laughing on my grave. | |
| When the old men do the fighting and the young men all look on. | |
| And the young girls eat their mothers meat from tubes of plasticon. | |
| Be wary of these my gentle friends of all the skins you breed. | |
| They have a tasty habit they eat the hands that bleed. | |
| So remember who you say you are and keep your noses clean. | |
| Boys will be boys and play with toys so be strong with your beast. | |
| Oh Rosie dear, doncha think it' s queer, so stop me if you please. | |
| The baby is dead, my lady said, ' You gentlemen, why you all work for me?' |
| Lyrics: Jagger Richards Music: Jagger Richards | |
| Didn' t I see you down in San Antone on a hot and dusty night? | |
| We were eating eggs in Sammy' s when the black man there drew his knife. | |
| Aw, you drowned that Jew in Rampton as he washed his sleeveless shirt, | |
| You know, that Spanishspeaking gentlemen, the one we all called ' Kurt.' | |
| Come now, gentleman, I know there' s some mistake. | |
| How forgetful I' m becoming, now you fixed your bus' ness straight. | |
| I remember you in Hemlock Road in nineteen fiftysix. | |
| You' re a faggy little leather boy with a smaller piece of stick. | |
| You' re a lashing, smashing hunk of man | |
| Your sweat shines sweet and strong. | |
| Your organs working perfectly, but there' s a part that' s not screwed on. | |
| Weren' t you at the Coke convention back on nineteen sixtyfive | |
| You' re the misbred, grey executive I' ve seen heavily advertised. | |
| You' re the great, gray man whose daughter licks policemen' s buttons clean. | |
| You' re the man who squats behind the man who works the soft machine. | |
| Come now, gentleman, your love is all I crave. | |
| You' ll still be in the circus when I' m laughing, laughing on my grave. | |
| When the old men do the fighting and the young men all look on. | |
| And the young girls eat their mothers meat from tubes of plasticon. | |
| Be wary of these my gentle friends of all the skins you breed. | |
| They have a tasty habit they eat the hands that bleed. | |
| So remember who you say you are and keep your noses clean. | |
| Boys will be boys and play with toys so be strong with your beast. | |
| Oh Rosie dear, doncha think it' s queer, so stop me if you please. | |
| The baby is dead, my lady said, ' You gentlemen, why you all work for me?' |