That Old Road
Here we are again on that old road
Just standing around there with our load
With no particular place to go
And between us all we’ve got no dough
We have no direction in our heads
Wishing we were still all in our beds
But we need to go somewhere, so we said
So that’s why we’re here just being misread
By those who drive past going to get bread
Important to them they don’t loose the thread
We just stand there hoping they’ll stop
They might take us to the coffee shop
But on they all go and we’ve nothing to show
Except that old bottle of fine wine Bordeaux
The sun is up and the corn is high
So we all turn round and say goodbye
But not before we’ve toped that good bottle
And heard those drivers step on the throttle
They’re getting away from us as fast as they can
Do they think that we’ve got some sort of crazy plan?
So here we all are deciding our route
But really there’s nothing that is so acute
As a quick revisit of the penal code
Standing by the side of that long old road
