London bound and gagging
On the tarmac in Zagreb
With a planeload of Cliff Richard fans
And no room for my legs
Staring at the ceiling
Playing with the air
With an over bearing feeling I wasn't going anywhere
We taxied down the runway
The Cliff fans started to sing
I recognised the tune
But not the number of the hymn
If it wasn't for the vocal
It could have been The Last Post
As I turned the colour of a snowball
The temperature of toast
Sixty seconds later I'd be calling for the hostess
If I was going to meet my maker
I was going under protest
Kicking and screaming
Hanging from the wheels
Starry eyed and steaming
With a vegetarian meal
This is your captain speaking
Please enjoy your flight
Fasten up your seatbelts for a bumpy ride
The sky outside is beautiful
It makes no sense
We should be experiencing turbulence
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