Written in October 1995 during a period of reminiscing about the old times and considering the present. Do we learn from our mistakes? Do we try? Careless disc jockeys are advised to read the words before air play.


Escape with me along our English highways,

You can Humphrey Bogart J's along the way,

And watch the jet streams weave their pretty patterns,

As the Tory Canyon sinks into the bay

And, Oh those dank November evenings,

When the smog lay thick and hard on all our towns,

And how a nation mourned together,

When the Flowers of Manchester went down.


Let's take a look into the London borough's,

Where Rachman rules the roost along Earls Court,

Where rent control is just another password,

For promises that simply can't be bought,

And some where in the House of Commons,

Profumo's dreams will surely come undone,

Such lies will leave the Tories reeling,

Thanks to Mandy, Christine and Edgecombe.


And all of those American folk singers,

Who landed here in England just by chance,

Some of them were such welcome bedfellows,

And some of them led us a merry dance,

Dylan stole a whole song from the Scousers,

Paul Simon thought he'd pinch our Scarborough Fair,

Perhaps they thought it easy picking,

Perhaps they thought that Carthy wouldn't care.


And together let us journey through a decade,

We'll leave the flower power far behind,

Where LSD was once a form of money,

It soon became a way to blow your mind,

And out in Vietnam a war is raging,

Children run the streets napalmed and bare,

In England the good peacenicks are marching,

At Easter time converging on a Square.


And as we land back in the Nineties,

And we take a look at what is going on,

John Major sees and speaks and hears no evil,

While the French still test their fucking bomb,

And, Oh the ozone layer,

And, Oh the seas and forests that we rape,

Lets pray that those who come tomorrow,

Will find the highways to escape.


Last line of each verse repeated.


© Joe Stead - Fore Lane Music October 1995

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