Got a two hour lunchbreak today? Thinking of calling up your trusty travel agent and booking a stow on a slow boat to North Korea? Want to watch time fly? We’ve got your agent standing by, and other agents standing by behind her, everyone in the shadows, leaning against those tall, tan and skinny ABC missiles. Sure, we’ve got a million ways to fly, some of them by boat, some of them by foot. Bimbo knows:
You never catch him sitting still / He’s just the roving kind /
All though he’s just a little boy / He’s got a grown up mind / He’s always got a shaggy dog / A pulling at his clothes / And everybody calls to him / As down the street he goes
Bimbo, Bimbo / Where you going to go e oh / Bimbo, Bimbo / What you going to do e oh / Bimbo, Bimbo / Does your mommy know / That you’re going down the road / To see your little girly oh / Bimbo, Bimbo / Bimbo, Bimbo / Bimbo, Bimbo
The good ol’ boys know
Just the good ol’ boys / Never meanin’ no harm
Makin’ their way / The only way they know how / That’s just a little bit more / Than the law will allow
And I know of a wave you can ride all the way to the heart of El Niño. What I don’t know is which way the world is going to turn to next. Maybe my way, if I’m lucky. No windows on the decks, just these curvy Otho legged radio desks and some laughing lamps.
And if I knew where I was going with this one, I’d already be off the streets, because I’ve passed a million signs—while riding, flying, sailing, walking, airmail…doesn’t matter, I get around, and in whatever form of transport the bimbo boys tell me to use. Call me cargo. And
all those signs say the same thing: IF YOU LIVE HERE YOUD BE HOME ALREADY. Well, I am here and I am home and all these million signs belong to me and point the way to…so don’t get me started, and while I’m at it, don’t mind if I spin another record eh..
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