They’ve opened a folk expresso bar,

And once for a sort of a joke,

I went to drink Folk expresso there,

And watch the expresso Folk.


The coffee was just the same old stuff,

As you get in the posh caffays,

But something about the customers,

Recalled by grandpa’s days.


They had flowing beards, and flowing manes,

Tho they looked a bit down at heels

And they sang in moody and sankey tunes,

Of their wonderfully high ideals.


The girls had hair like grandma wore,

And stockings like aunt Georgette,

And it seemed quite clear they hadn’t heard

Of the daily bath as yet.


If it hadn’t been for the atmosphere,

I’d never have done such a thing,

But I went right up to the rostrum place,

And said I should like to sing.


I couldn’t locate the pianist,

But I gave em the old “lost chord”

Seated one day at the whats his name,

And golly how they encorded!


One of them wanted to tape my voice,

On a little machine he had,

And others told me I was quite unique,

And my song was authentic trad.


Foco Club Newsletter Vol 2, No 8, 19 February 1969