Fairweather Friend

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 about 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 fairweather friend
If the hills are hard to find
If the misty mountain tops 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