Bloody men are like bloody buses
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches
Your stop
Two or three others appear
You look at them flashing indicators
Offering you a ride
You’re trying to read the destinations
You haven’t much time to decide
If you make a mistake there is no turning back
Jump off and you’ll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and the lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days
Bloody men are like bloody buses
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches
Your stop
Two or three others appear
You look at them flashing indicators
Offering you a ride
You’re trying to read the destinations
You haven’t much time to decide
If you make a mistake there is no turning back
Jump off and you’ll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and the lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days
The cars – the taxis – the lorries go by