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.

I got a feelin' way down inside I can't shake it, no matter how I try You can't touch it, you just know The earth is gonna shake and the wind is gonna

Be the light of my lantern, the light of my lantern, be the light Be the light of my lantern, the light of my lantern, tonight Be the light of my lantern,

All along I had to talk about it But like a two edged sword It cuts you and it stabs me All along I knew you were a phony girl You sit behind the

Я приду на край заката, Ожиданием распятый, Навсегда забуду день, что потерял. Научу себя не слышать, Научу себя не видеть, Как будто в мире больше нет меня. Я каждый день встречаю на алтаре печали И цветы целую,

Я возвращался очень поздней лунной ночью, Бродяга - ветер фонари вокруг качал. И чтобы путь мой был еще чуть-чуть короче, Я эту песню звездам напевал: ПРИПЕВ: Эх, червончики, мои червончики! Ах милые, хорошие мои! Вы мне верные