Tuesday, 3 September 2013

nosey bob

I like to stroll down wood lane towards neston
Where I’m sure to run into old bob
Who’s not a knock in the arse off ninety now
Who could knock you on your arse with a terrible frown

He could tell you about trapping wild birds there
And the country before there was town
He could tell you about tides in the middle of June
He was born in ’25

When I leave old bob I turn around
And he raises his stick from the ground
From the ground
Keep going son he breathes to me
And my heart races
And I never have felt so proud

Keep going yourself old bob I think
Keep swearing to me and
Keep walking the lane
Talk to me on Sunday
When I’ll be there alone
And we’ll cut that new stick
Two men on a lane

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