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I saw a little guy named Reilly Down on the Bowery late one night He was singin’ with a band While I was tryin’ to make a stand With a beauty at the bar downstairs
She was tryin’ to sell me high-priced jewelry But then her boyfriend came and saw right through me It was about this time I heard a distant line About some empty-headed millionaires
And by the time I got to the ballroom You know, I couldn’t see a *** thing So I pushed through the crowd ‘cause I just wasn’t about To miss a chance to see this little Reilly *** sing
New York City on memorial day Skinny little punks tryin’ to make it pay Tryin’ to get the *** out of the USA Before their *** get judged on garbage day
Well, they’re the stories we’ve all heard told Full of sex, drugs and rock and roll The kind that die before they get old By popular demand
And there was something in his eyes Could make the soul of Keith Moon rise He threw his beer in my face and took the mike in his hand And started leading the Assassination Band
If you see a little guy named Reilly And if you like that sort of thing—who don’t? You can take a tip from me He’s a worthy must-see With his little beaten-up guitar
Just like a snotty rock and roll revival Led by an anti-American idol Not really tryin' very hard to be some kind of demigod Forever shining like a fallen star
You can catch him out in Minnesota Or in the cow towns of Illinois Or in the high-falutin' cities with his pocketful of ditties And a bottle at the ready like a shiny toy
Just like an ex-American reprobate That neither God nor money could exonerate In a medicine house where all the salesmen wait To strike a deal to gain admittance to the pearly gates
Well, they’re the stories we’ve all heard told Full of sex, drugs and rock and roll The kind that die before they get old By popular demand
And there was something in his eyes The kind of pain you can't disguise He drew the mike from the stand just like a gun in his hand And fired up the Assassination Band
Well, the honey at the bar was lookin' pretty in the mirror, her reflection kinda bleary due to *** and beer And I was all paid up but I couldn't see clear and the Sentra I'd rented seemed to up and disappear So I spent the wee hours on the West Side Highway at the impound lot along with all the other boozers and the Jerseyites and tourists and assorted losers who reminded me of everything I'd shed like a tear, or thought I had ... it wasn't all that clear �