You'll never see me trying to raise cain

You'll never see me wear a suit of green

There's a slip-road up right ahead

Leading to the agragarian

But i'm city born and bred

Too many car-fumes in my head

Just a well-read punk peasant.



But you'd think a country man would understand

The devil makes work for idle hands.

M5 6-7 pm



And the man who pretends he knows it all

Is destined to a mighty fall.

Gets into your house with cheer,

Then proceeds to take all you've got to offer.

This is not an autobahn

It's an evil roundabout

That leads to the haywain

And you'll never see good trains again.



In late 60s, my daddy said to me,

You'll never see trams and clogs again.

Now they roam the city.



Can these people not understand

The devil makes work for idle hands

M5 6-7 pm

The devil makes work for idle hands.



M5 to the country straight ahead

It's stuffed to the gills with crusty brown bread

Can they not understand

There's nothing worse than a bored man?



M5, 6-7 pm


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