Two Old Dogs Without a Name

Two old dogs without a name Trucking down the road to glory Seeking not to blaze in fame But to leave a blazing story Being roadies is their game Rough of trouser, hair of hoary They're the ones you cannot tame Backline front and morning Tory Theirs, the lifestyle that surpasses They're the coolest of the classes Yours is blonde and mine's got glasses Give them both their backstage passes Euro dogs without a draw Punching down the road to Stuttgart Not til Munich will they score There's just enough to have a kick-start Put the pedal through the floor Whack this mother down the Ouststartt (?) The bandit in at half-past four Sound-check, sandwich and a sweetheart Getting gear in, they're the masters Couldn't rig it any faster Break a leg in a disaster Fix it with a sticking plaster Two old dogs who know the gig Piling feedback through the wedges Hanging off the lighting rig Miles of flex along the ledges Twenty thousand and they're big Get more in around the edges Turn up sweaty at the lig Such the perks and privileges They're the hardest of the grafters Lock the truck up to the rafters Hear the sound of roadies after In the hotel for their afters