Editing Floor Blues

I was born in the West-End In the summer of '48 Above a small Cafe Some people liked to come there and call it night But for me it was all day Oh! Now the dogs keep a growling Round my front door And the Truth howled out from the editing floor Years went by Quarrymen came along This boy became a star Then he dropped – but got up again With a Black Everly guitar Then he searched along the road A good song he was looking for And the Truth sang out from the editing floor Big brother took a trip As bold as he could be To the place, he heard, Where the good Prophets used to walk High above this dark world Then the Word came down And the little brother saw How the Truth was buried on the editing floor One day the papers rang us up, T'check if I said this? I said, "Oh boy! I'd never say that!" Then we got down to the truth of it But they never printed that! Just like Socrates, the man from Greece Fell down on his knees Said, Lord! Forgive them please Forgive them please And he spoke no more And the cup spilled out on the editing floor