Would they still sound the same,

Sgt. Pepper’s lads,

no longer rehearsing near

the Band Stand on a Sunday morning,

the tuba and the clarinet

long since sold

to pay the debt incurred

whilst out of work from the Docks

and the stand against the tyrant witch,

but instead several members changed

and Sgt. Pepper long since dead.

They would carry his name

forth round Merseyside

and beyond, their own moustaches

as resplendent as their once noble leader

and two or three of the once young men