A proper little goldmineThat's what it is
A proper little goldmine
And we had blasted round
Picking off the tors
Just like someone
Picking off the tors
On a fine summer's evening
With a helicopter whizzing round
Past the point to point
Past the sunset
Down and up
And round
To get to the Rugglestone
He was there - seemed slightly quieter
And he left before us
And home again
Where two actually saw Lady Godiva
Don't ask