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The world is full of bus stops, At least that's the way it seems, And they're by small sweet shops, Selling fourpenny ice-creams, But if you go to buy one, For to lick and bite and chew, Somebody does a sly one, - You've lost your place in the queue; And if you were at the rear, Of the long queue anyway, When you're back with your ice, dear You've no cash the fare to pay, Having spent it in the, shop; But this never worries you, When you're at a nice bus stop, 'Cos you have a lovely view, Whether it's day or dark night, Whether streets are wet or dry, There's always a human sight, To make you giggle and sigh; - People rushing sopping wet, People sporting summer shorts; And here comes the strange mob set, Full of screams and cries and snorts, Their feet go pitter-patter, I always ask what the fuss is: "What does it really matter, That there are no buses?" |
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