I must get out on the road again On a bike all covered in rust With a gallon of petrol in the tank And an oil that I can trust. I must ride up to the hills once more And ear'ole round some bends And let the hoist of a tightening curve Give a thrill that never ends. I must get out on the motorway To eat up a hundred miles, To feel the sting of the speed driven rain Painting tears of joy on my smiles. But the Ministry of Transport is ruining my life If she does to the road and me What a thousand years of foreign fleets Have failed to do on the sea. For the spirit of England is planted too In the riders of two rolling wheels As well as the sons of the rolling seas Whose wrath the enemy feels. And if our fleets are silent now We riders will shout 'til you're deaf And instead of our ships you will honour our clubs United by our B.M.F. I must go down to the club tonight To Talk with the lads through the hours We'll capture again the battles of old And the vict'ries to come which are ours.
Inspired by Masefield