Bat Out Of Basildon Lyrics

Song	Bat Out Of Basildon
Artist	The Tangent
Album	Not As Good As The Book
Download	Image LRC TXT

	He's only as old as his helmet and no one can see his grey hair
	Through the dark tinted perspex sun visor as he breathes in the open freeway air
	There's a two hour queue out of Stansted and an age on the M25
	A line of artics that stretches to Yorkshire but this guy's still glad to be alive
	Half his world in his topcase the other half in his sack
	As he overtakes the juggernauts of his past, this guy's never looking back
	He lives his life on the white lines, he's the spirit of old “66”
	Three hundred kilos of man and machine still getting their kicks
	He's still dreaming of summers on the open road
	The path that he's chosen is no more than he's owed
	And his freedom comes in horsepower it seems
	The apehanger bars seem to suit him so well
	He's an Easy Rider, he's a Bat Out of Hell
	He's the Leader of the Pack, he's an Angel in the Raw
	But no-one writes those biker songs no more
	Basildon glows on the distant horizon like he's coming down to L.A.
	The rain's sheeting in from imagined mountains but while the traffic works he plays
	He's only as old as his helmet and he only got it last week
	And the exhaust sounds like a ****ing rock band and the cops only see a silver streak
	He's got Born to Be Wild on the Walkman and the Devil tattoo doesn't show
	But the guy from the chip shop down your street is a Heavy Metal God of the Road
	And the sun has just set behind the Rockies tonight
	On the roads by the Med the water shines bright
	There's chrome by the roadhouses and dark-eyed chicks at the bar
	There's camp fires burning and there's bands on the stage
	And something good's smokin'
	But he's never been his age
	And the world is his oyster like it never was before
	But no-one writes those biker songs no more

	He' s only as old as his helmet and no one can see his grey hair
	Through the dark tinted perspex sun visor as he breathes in the open freeway air
	There' s a two hour queue out of Stansted and an age on the M25
	A line of artics that stretches to Yorkshire but this guy' s still glad to be alive
	Half his world in his topcase the other half in his sack
	As he overtakes the juggernauts of his past, this guy' s never looking back
	He lives his life on the white lines, he' s the spirit of old " 66"
	Three hundred kilos of man and machine still getting their kicks
	He' s still dreaming of summers on the open road
	The path that he' s chosen is no more than he' s owed
	And his freedom comes in horsepower it seems
	The apehanger bars seem to suit him so well
	He' s an Easy Rider, he' s a Bat Out of Hell
	He' s the Leader of the Pack, he' s an Angel in the Raw
	But noone writes those biker songs no more
	Basildon glows on the distant horizon like he' s coming down to L. A.
	The rain' s sheeting in from imagined mountains but while the traffic works he plays
	He' s only as old as his helmet and he only got it last week
	And the exhaust sounds like a ing rock band and the cops only see a silver streak
	He' s got Born to Be Wild on the Walkman and the Devil tattoo doesn' t show
	But the guy from the chip shop down your street is a Heavy Metal God of the Road
	And the sun has just set behind the Rockies tonight
	On the roads by the Med the water shines bright
	There' s chrome by the roadhouses and darkeyed chicks at the bar
	There' s camp fires burning and there' s bands on the stage
	And something good' s smokin'
	But he' s never been his age
	And the world is his oyster like it never was before
	But noone writes those biker songs no more

	He' s only as old as his helmet and no one can see his grey hair
	Through the dark tinted perspex sun visor as he breathes in the open freeway air
	There' s a two hour queue out of Stansted and an age on the M25
	A line of artics that stretches to Yorkshire but this guy' s still glad to be alive
	Half his world in his topcase the other half in his sack
	As he overtakes the juggernauts of his past, this guy' s never looking back
	He lives his life on the white lines, he' s the spirit of old " 66"
	Three hundred kilos of man and machine still getting their kicks
	He' s still dreaming of summers on the open road
	The path that he' s chosen is no more than he' s owed
	And his freedom comes in horsepower it seems
	The apehanger bars seem to suit him so well
	He' s an Easy Rider, he' s a Bat Out of Hell
	He' s the Leader of the Pack, he' s an Angel in the Raw
	But noone writes those biker songs no more
	Basildon glows on the distant horizon like he' s coming down to L. A.
	The rain' s sheeting in from imagined mountains but while the traffic works he plays
	He' s only as old as his helmet and he only got it last week
	And the exhaust sounds like a ing rock band and the cops only see a silver streak
	He' s got Born to Be Wild on the Walkman and the Devil tattoo doesn' t show
	But the guy from the chip shop down your street is a Heavy Metal God of the Road
	And the sun has just set behind the Rockies tonight
	On the roads by the Med the water shines bright
	There' s chrome by the roadhouses and darkeyed chicks at the bar
	There' s camp fires burning and there' s bands on the stage
	And something good' s smokin'
	But he' s never been his age
	And the world is his oyster like it never was before
	But noone writes those biker songs no more

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