Hoping to become a rock and roll star
Looking for pay dirt, celebrity gold
To become an idol with or without guitar
The finest producer in the whole UK
He was gifted and confused
I reckoned he'd give me a hit in a week
He wrote and produced Telstar, you see,
and the honeycombs, have I the right?
And made Heinz a star overnight,
surely he could do the same for me
His studio was in North London land,
three flights of stairs dark and gloomy
He was awfully decent to me
Really didn't want to screw me
With echo it sounded like
He said he thought I looked like Buddy
wrapped in foam on the boards
He did all this to the tune and the chords
and he stamped on the floor
and he stamped on the floor
His life at times became ashes
Madder and madder, a tragic end
he shot his landlady and then himself
And died a bankrupt, lonely guy
My fading tape fell apart on his shelf
I've nothing to remember him by
But his magic music still gets me high
This song is for the big man Joe
A producer I was proud to know
Knocked over by a moral blow
and he stabbed on the floor
and he stabbed on the floor
and he stabbed on the floor