ramblings and things
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He was a bus driver from Withernsea
Well used to long twisting roads,
Proud of his acquired ability and
Knowledge of the Drivers' code.
Well respected by his peers,
Known as the travellers' friend
Until native lust and appetites
Brought his career sadly to an end.
He worked with this courier from
Mappleton, who got joy as a swinger
And when she invited him
His scruples didn't long linger.
She taught him all her wiles
That she thought he ought to know,
Being from a place like Withernsea
He'd been sexually just a little slow.
They got high on Waccy Baccy
In a cafe in Old Amsterdam
Forgot about his passengers,
Left them stranded in a jam.
Hitched hiked on to Venlo
Blissfully toked and unaware
In a backstreet in Amsterdam
A full bus was waiting for him there,
Dishonourably discharged by his
Company, driver's badge withdrawn
He woke up in Potsdam
One cold and dreary morn;
Deserted by his lover,
Who during their long hike,
Had shot off and left him for
A Hell's Angel with a Harley bike.
He's now busking in Macclesfield,
Then getting high as a kite
In his lonely little bed sitter
Nearly every single night.
And he sits there in his loneliness,
One of those self sufficient chaps
Getting pleasure from his weed and
Collection of vintage touring maps.
As for his one time partner
He never ever gives her a thought,
Though still remaining grateful
For the pleasures that she taught,
And sometimes, for times past
Though without any fuss
He likes to take the odd trip
By long distance bus.
And sometimes looking closely
Anybody sitting very near
Could unobtrusively observe
The tracks of many a wistful tear.
He'd been a bus driver from Withernsea
Well used to long twisting roads
Proud of his acquired ability and
Knowledge of the Drivers' code.
Well used to long twisting roads,
Proud of his acquired ability and
Knowledge of the Drivers' code.
Well respected by his peers,
Known as the travellers' friend
Until native lust and appetites
Brought his career sadly to an end.
He worked with this courier from
Mappleton, who got joy as a swinger
And when she invited him
His scruples didn't long linger.
She taught him all her wiles
That she thought he ought to know,
Being from a place like Withernsea
He'd been sexually just a little slow.
They got high on Waccy Baccy
In a cafe in Old Amsterdam
Forgot about his passengers,
Left them stranded in a jam.
Hitched hiked on to Venlo
Blissfully toked and unaware
In a backstreet in Amsterdam
A full bus was waiting for him there,
Dishonourably discharged by his
Company, driver's badge withdrawn
He woke up in Potsdam
One cold and dreary morn;
Deserted by his lover,
Who during their long hike,
Had shot off and left him for
A Hell's Angel with a Harley bike.
He's now busking in Macclesfield,
Then getting high as a kite
In his lonely little bed sitter
Nearly every single night.
And he sits there in his loneliness,
One of those self sufficient chaps
Getting pleasure from his weed and
Collection of vintage touring maps.
As for his one time partner
He never ever gives her a thought,
Though still remaining grateful
For the pleasures that she taught,
And sometimes, for times past
Though without any fuss
He likes to take the odd trip
By long distance bus.
And sometimes looking closely
Anybody sitting very near
Could unobtrusively observe
The tracks of many a wistful tear.
He'd been a bus driver from Withernsea
Well used to long twisting roads
Proud of his acquired ability and
Knowledge of the Drivers' code.
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Any More Fares, Please
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