Watford Gap - Roy Harper

Just about a mile from where the motorways all merge

You can view the national edifice, a monumental splurge

It’s the lonesome traveler’s rotgut or bacteria’s revenge

The great plastic spectacular descendant of Stonehenge

And the people come to worship on their death-defying wheels

Fancy-dressed as shovels for their death-defying meals

It’s the Watford Gap, Watford Gap

A plate of grease and a load of crap

At one a.m. on Sunday you can hear the boys declare

That the other team were fairies and the ref was Fred Astaire

It’s Chopper Ronnie’s fan club on their weekly pilgrimage

To stick the hero’s boot in all the way from Stamford Bridge

And without a solid concrete-burger no night is complete

Plastic cups of used bathwater wash away defeat

It’s the Watford Gap, Watford Gap

A plate of grease and a load of crap

The traffic jam is rattling like a five-mile cornered snake

With fuming pieces falling off and steaming in its wake

The city’s like a goolie in a groupie’s stagnant womb

Spaghetti Junction’s target in the vinegar strokes of doom

The countryside is ravaged like a syphilitic whore

Yodeling up the canyon is the dirty old Blue Boar

It’s the Watford Gap, Watford Gap

A plate of grease and a load of crap