London Boys, Part III

But wait! Johnny Thunders would not let this aggression stand. The following year, 1978, Thunders released a condescending reply called London Boys. Soaring in on his guitar, Thunders announces, "You best believe I'm from New York City!" Shrugging off the insults, he cuts to the quick:

You been telling me to shut my mouth
If I wasn't kissing you wouldn't be around

Boom! Thunders takes credit for Rotten's fame, having developed the sound and the provocative image that the Pistols latched on to. Then he lets 'em have it:

You talk about faggots, little mama's boy
You sit at home, you got your chaperon
You need an escort to take a piss
He holds your hand and he shakes your dick

This is kryptonite, the assertion that the Sex Pistols — a band predicated upon representing an explosive threat to the monarchy — were, from the first, nothing more than a publicity stunt created, orchestrated and coddled by promoter/handler Malcolm McLaren. And Thunders would know, since the Dolls had briefly employed McLaren as their manager but fired the unscrupulous flimflammer for his meddling. Thunders raises further doubts about the Pistols' efficacy,

You're so pretty, suburban kiddy
You think you're gonna change, re-arrange the city?

playing the canny New Yorker to Rotten's credulous bourgeois would-be revolutionary. And then the smirking singsong chorus, "Little London boys, you're little London boys... You think you're gonna fool me?" Thunders punctuates with a somewhat forced cackle, but is just gearing up for a second round. He doesn't think these kids can hack it on the mean streets,

Little rich kid, what do you know?
You had everything, don't you think it don't show
You're hiding in the closet, just a-facing the wall
Too much too soon, do you recall?

name-checking the Dolls album Too Much Too Soon to remind that he has been-there-done-that, and to forecast the Pistols' impending collapse. Thunders offers his advice to these poseurs in summary, recommending that they "have a holiday in the city", collect some cheeky "dildo souvenirs" from the downtown sex shops and stay away from the hard drugs and stick to their bourgeois LSD. He also assures their safety upon visiting NYC, slyly: "You won't get shot, shot by me."

Thunders takes his time wrapping up, hollering that "I'm talking about the whole lot of ya!" This could mean the entire band, or more likely the broader UK punk scene for being lead by middle-class whelps (see also: The Clash). After making an insinuating remark about the lack of girls at Pistols performances Thunders sashays out, shaking his head:

You poor little puppet...