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I'm on a B road heading for the sea |
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To see if hands across the ocean |
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Shake or wave |
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Through the whiplash of the windscreen wipers |
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I can see for miles |
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But all I do is watch the time |
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And the driver's hands |
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He harbours thoughts on personal grief |
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I said your hardship's |
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Only one of a fleet |
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That didn't go down well |
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CHORUS |
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Listen son if you'd spent |
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Your life in the last lane |
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You would have an accent to grind |
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Punch-drunk on patriotism |
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Blind-drunk on borderism |
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Maybe I should drive |
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And while you're castaway |
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The mice'll play |
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They'll have a license |
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To dull those left back home |
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What about those poor souls? |
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And as I jumped to these conclusions |
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He thumped his feet on the brakes |
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But we still hit a songwriter |
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Trudging through the rain |
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Scrambled out and watched him |
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Rest in pieces |
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Said a prayer and rifled |
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Through his pockets |
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But the side of his mouth |
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Still had something to say |
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At the toss of a coin |
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I end up head in the dirt |
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And tail in the air |
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Yet you can dance away |
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But be it friend of hard-up-man |
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Fellow or kin |
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When the chips are down |
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They're down for good |