The daughters of noble men knew him by sight His twelve-string guitar would delight them by night
The name of our hero was Herbert McNee And the scene of his fall was the King's Road in Chelsea
And he thought he was incredibly hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip,
and gloomy on the King's Road, on the King's Road
The agents and managers came from afar They taught him to smile and they made him a star
He lived in a manor he couldn't afford With a royalty rate of a penny a record
But he thought he was incredibly hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip,
and gloomy on the King's Road, on the King's Road
But all the king's horses and all the king's men Couldn't put Herbert together again
He found himself penniless without a friend On the King's Road
Our poor little hero was swept off his feet Seduced by the pleasures of cannabis street
And though there are many who wouldn't agree This tale has a moral you shouldn't take lightly
Though you think you are incredibly hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hip,
and gloomy on the King's Road, on the King's Road, on the King's Road