Our parents would treat us with carrots and sticks
Just two alcoholics up to their old tricks
Mum played piano and loved Gracie Fields
She would have been famous but we dragged at her heels
Our dad was a big man unshaven and strong
He loved to hear Gracie as she sang her song
The pub on a Sunday was where she would sing
And we’d play outside ’til the last bell would ring
My brother was gifted he had a great voice
Not like the other young Battersea Boys
He knew every opera and sang in the street
And with Sally’s Army he’d play tambourine
My dad couldn’t take it he called him a ppf
For singing Puccini so misunderstood
When he was just fourteen my brother was sent
To the Salvation Army to live with his friends
My mum hit the bottle as her son left home
She stood in our kitchen and cried all alone
My brother was gifted he had a great voice
Not like the other young Battersea Boys
He studied his music and we kept inn touch
We still have that old stream of brotherly love
He sings for his supper, still wants to be
A voice on the big stage with his own CD
Our parents are long gone cold in the ground
I served time in prison but they weren’t around
I love my sweet brother his voice makes me cry
We sing for forgiveness as time passes us by
My brother was gifted he had a great voice
Not like the other young Battersea Boys
My brother was gifted he had a great voice
Not like the other young Battersea Boys

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS