"My old man's a dustman He wears a dustman's hat He wears cor blimey trousers And he lives in a council flat" I read the news That he is dead Of course, on ceefax And, naturally Thought first of My own father And then Of his tales of the 1950s When all was right in the world And there was common decency. "Oi! Where's me tiger's 'ead? Three feet from its tail!" I remember long car journeys Where my father imposed on us His love of skiffle Despite our protests But I cannot imagine him Listening to Lonnie In 1956 When a bloke from Glasgow With his mate abusing a washboard Playing a banjo Affecting an accent From the Mississippi delta Sounded like the future "Cumberland Gap Ain't nowhere" And now the lyrics Enter my head And won't go "We had a little bacon And we had a little beans" Nobody had invented youth culture So Lonnie had to do it "Down the Mississippi To the Gulf of Mexico" The time is right For a skiffle revival Is it fanciful to think Jack White might have A few of his records At home in Detroit? "And we fought the bloomin' British In the town of New Orleans" He changed the world by accident Bringing America Into British lives He borrowed form Leadbelly And committed terrible jokes To long-playing records "If tin whistles are made of tin What are foghorns made of?" Now my mind is full Of this alien music Recalled from childhood "How d'you know it's full? 'Cause there's not room inside..."