STEVE MARRIOTT’S BAD OLD DAYS

Steve Marriott laid back, looking like a spaced-out leprechaun, a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of Guinness in the other. Brewed in Dublin, Guinness is to Humble Pie what Budweiser is to Alice Cooper. Whenever The Pie hits the road, they always pack about a twenty mule team's worth just so they don't get homesick.

Exhausted from a show, buzzing from his brew and laid back from a joint, Marriott was in a very mellow mood* but the son-of-a-bitch still wouldn't tell me the words to the second verse of "The One Eyed Trouser-Snake Rumba" off Humble Pie's debut A&M release.

" 'The One Eyed Trouser-Snake Rumba'?" he cried incredulously. It was a stab from the past. "A one eyed trouser-snake," Marriott inquired. "You know what that is, don't you?"

"Yea, I do," I conceded. "But I could never figure out the words to that second verse. You just garbled 'em completely."

Stevie snickered slightly. He knew what they were. I giggled in reply. I could imagine. Marriott snickered again, only louder this time.

"You're not gonna tell me, are you?" I said finally.