nosey bob

I like to stroll down wood lane towards neston

Where I’m sure to run into old bob

Who’s not a knock in the arse off ninety now

Who could knock you on your arse with a terrible frown

He could tell you about trapping wild birds there

And the country before there was town

He could tell you about tides in the middle of June

He was born in ’25

When I leave old bob I turn around

And he raises his stick from the ground

From the ground

Keep going son he breathes to me

And my heart races

And I never have felt so proud

Keep going yourself old bob I think

Keep swearing to me and

Keep walking the lane

Talk to me on Sunday

When I’ll be there alone

And we’ll cut that new stick

Two men on a lane