Lord Bateman’s Motorbike

Lord Bateman runs an inn out on the A65
Sort of place where everybody drinks before they drive
Weekends runs a motorbike to Scarborough and back
He's not too many brandies from a second heart attack
John Barleycorn he works the land and drinks at Bateman's Inn
And every evening toasts to all the things that might have been
Tells the world that once he had a trial for Hull KR
Now he watches them on TV in the corner of the bar

Bateman gets up early lifts the latches on the gate
Seven horses stabled and the family sleeping late
Fourteen hundred acres two daughters and a son
He'll ride the eastern coast and back before the morning's done
Barleycorn he's up at dawn and working off the beer
Same thing every day of every week of every year
Hears Lord Bateman racing by along the county lanes
And pulls his jacket tight against the coming of the rain...

Lord Bateman meets the storm that's coming in from the shore
Speeding over Quarry Hill at 85 or more
There's rain to take the wheels away rain among the glass
And rain to wash the blood into the tarmac and the grass
In the months to come John Barleycorn he sits and drinks his fill
Measures out his life between his pocket and the till
So down the generations Bateman's son behind the bar
While Barleycorn he sips his beer and watches Hull KR.

Похожие новости.

Солнечный свет, зимний рассвет, Но не согреет он меня. Тайну любви держишь внутри, Но извини, так нельзя, Жить без тепла. С солнцем я тебя сравню В зиму лютую, так слепишь глаза Только, где твоё тепло? Где хранишь его,

Seven in the morning (morning), seven messages on my cell phone Already know who's calling (calling), I better get home I'm innocent (innocent), it wasn't my fault, DJ had me caught up I

Осень... Листья, прожилок рунной вязью испещряя, Красным окрасит, золота блеск не щадя... Осень... Туманом укроет, грязную слякоть скрывая, Утонет в холодных каплях дождя... Зима... Буйства вьюг принесет, завывая, Бестией рвутся спесиво ветра... Зима... Льдами скует, инеем посыпая, Листвы рун тайны пряча

Когда поймешь умом, что ты один на свете, И одиночества дорога так длинна, То жить легко и думаешь о смерти, Как о последней капле горького вина. Вот мой бокал, в нем больше ни глотка Той

So save all of your light For those who can't sleep at night And who can't even sing to their shadows Oh they ride into town And they throw the shots down And they save