Angel Fingers was a big, bad man,
The toughest gangster in Birmingham.
He ruled the west side and half the east,
Everyone feared him, most of all the police.
He was aged sixteen when Rock 'n' Roll ruled,
And Birmingham was bigger than Liverpool.
He'd heard of a bloke called Roy Wood,
From Lee Hall, Brum (a most ingenious hood).
He followed Roy all along -
Bought his each and every song,
Right up to the time when he formed Wizzard,
(Better than any of yer Lynyrd Skynyrd)
Now one day, Fingers went to a Wizzard gig,
And still he was feeling kinda big.
So when a pusher offered him LSD
He could do nothing but agree.
In the concert he felt great,
And his heart began to elate.
The room went spinning round and round
And the music made a beautiful sound.
But then his reason began to deplete,
And big, bad Fingers did a streak
Through the crowd, the ladies he charmed,
Until he collapsed - in a policeman's arms!
The copper frowned as he dragged him away,
And on leaving was heard to say
"Streaking in public and LSD
- Doesn't look like fun to me"
So they took him off to jail
And said they'd let him out on bail.
But Angel Fingers had no dough
It was all at home with his wife (called Flo).
So Angel Fingers called his spouse,
And pleaded with her "Please, Meet Me At The Jailhouse"
This she did, and with a sigh said
"I'm glad I didn't see ya high!"
So there they were, Goin' Down The Road,
Feeling the same as Roy Wood, I suppose,
When he wrote the song of the same name
That's all about freedom which Fingers had gained.
This story I tell in jest, not in sorrow,
But it does hold a rather important motto
If ever round you a pusher-man lingers
Remember the Ballad of Angel Fingers.