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Boy boy, boy boy, rolling down the road
Boy boy, boy boy, what have you been told?
Do you wear your jeans of blue on pathways paved with gold?
Boy boy, boy boy, what have you been sold?

Yes boy, no boy, you don't have to use your head
It's all right, boy, you can use your feet instead
You don't have to worry 'bout the French emissary, you don't have to dread
Boy boy, boy boy, please listen to what I have said

You can ask my forlorn fair weather friend
If the hills are hard to find
If the misty mountaintops are made
They'll make us change their minds

Boy boy, boy boy, rolling down the road
Boy boy, boy boy, what have you been told?
You can smell the means by which your secret sonnets do unfold
Boy boy, boy boy, rolling down the road

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