In the 1980s there was anger in the air

Thatcher’s children breathing fire with bile-fuelled despair

And thick, treacly green gel bound my spiky hair

The Mary Chain’s screeches echoed in my ears

Morrissey’s tortured words fuelled my every angst and fear

A bedroom rebel hiding from the day-glo Tory cheers

Oh how I felt so Bohemian then

 

Wham’s false jollity was driving me insane

So I retreated with only Peely’s voice to fill my dark domain

Records he rather cared for were what kept me entertained

With McCulloch, McNab and McKenzie, McGowan and The Fall 

Punk utterings of Shelley, Lydon and Iggy popped my cork

A litany of indie fuelled my darkest core

Oh, I was so Bohemian - or so I thought

 

But then came jobs

Then came life

The gradual mainstreaming of me

Such a shame that I’m no shamen

Just a cog of wealth creation

Another rush hour patient

In the A&E of life

 

Now eighties rebels’ spiky locks have greyed – or just aren’t there

And all I see on my HD screen is Lydon’s middle-aged spread

Iggy has swapped heroin for car insurance instead

Shane’s bourbon-strained vocal cords accompany Christmas chimes

Mark E Smith reads football scores on Saturday evening times

And Morrissey’s tortured lyrics urge us to buy, buy, buy!

I guess I’ve grown less Bohemian with time

 

Mary Chain screeches now persuade us to try scent

Every suited, booted office gonk sings indie laments

And Shakin’ Stevens has stripped away just what Glastonbury meant

Now it’s George Michael who makes moral guardians frown

Whamming into photo shops with his brain drugged-up and drowned

The mainstream has morphed slowly into the supposed underground

Guess I’m just not so Bohemian now