I Spy Dogs - James Yorkston, The Athletes

I can feel your ribs, but that’s no complaint

So go and shoot for the moon, and I’ll just wait

In cafes past, carry on

And I spy dogs, at some we laugh

Do you remember the price, of those beers?

Though they couldn’t play, they couldn’t even play

And we laughed, and hid behind books

We could not read, although we looked the part

And had another, we couldn’t even speak

And he saw our foreign looks, and he cursed

Yeah, the rhythm sucked, and his equipment fucked

Carry on

And he knows this cannot last, and dreams he’s far away

Dreams he’s far away

And if he got himself a mask, could he really fly away

Could he really fly away?

And he hurled, a coarse insult

At our smiles, although we meant no harm

Yeah, we were just in France, carrying on