They joust and jostle, cook and roll They're bingo barmy, off the wall They raise their hats, they bow then speak They're winding up, they smell the peak Crampons, ice picks, to-da-loos The ice queen dons her dancing shoes The whistle blows the game is on In a place in which we belong
The flying Dutchman touches land He bugs the smug, he tans the bland The minarets of Istanbul Are safe because, our diaries full Our foothill walks, they make us strong The way ahead is hard and long We cross our hearts and hope to die In love with hope we start to fly!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
