Two old dogs without a name Trucking down the road to glory Seeking not to blaze in fame But to leave a blazing story
Being roadies is their game Rough of trouser, hair of hoary They're the ones you cannot tame Backline front and morning Tory
Theirs, the lifestyle that surpasses They're the coolest of the classes Yours is blonde and mine's got glasses Give them both their backstage passes
Euro dogs without a draw Punching down the road to Stuttgart Not 'til Munich will they score There's just enough to have a kick start
Put the pedal through the floor Whack this mother down the ausbahn Band get in at half-past four Sound check, sandwich and a sweetheart
Getting gear in, they're the masters Couldn't rig it any faster Break a leg in a disaster Fix it with a sticky plaster
Two old dogs who know their gig Piling feedback through the wedges Hanging off the lighting rig Miles of flex along the ledges
Twenty thousand make that big Get more in around the edges Turn up sweaty at the lig Such the perks and privileges
They're the hardest of the grafters Load the truck up to the rafters Hear the sound of roadies laughter In the hotel for their aftersTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
