Country Weekend

We're going to the country in a thirty foot rolls-royce,
And you're lonely servant driver; you're chauffeur of choice.
You probably never noticed I loved you from a-far,
I am awkward, coy and nervous when you're travellin' in my car.

Though my father always told me how a man should know his place,
I loose all decorum when I look back and see your face.
The rear view gets all misty and the road ahead is bleak,
I'll drive you for the weekend you drive me my whole week.

Oh tell me there is love across the class divide,
I'd be in bourgeois heaven with ya by my side.
I am just a chauffeur who really hopes for,
The honour of his passenger's hand.

Now maybe in the Hampton's your heart will start to melt,
You'll start to see this driver as someone like a friend.
And though I'm not a gambling man I'll maybe take a punt,
To ask you, "Come and join me and sit with me up front."

It's done a man like me no good to drive alone in cars,
My mind just tends to wonder and take things way too far.
Though my father always told me that the rich won't love the poor,
I still believe my sweetheart; you could love your poor chauffeur.

Oh tell me there is love across the class divide,
I'd be in bourgeois heaven with ya by my side.
I am just a chauffeur who really hopes for,
The honour of his passenger's hand.

Oh tell me there is love across the class divide,
I'd be in bourgeois heaven with ya by my side.
I am just a chauffeur who really hopes for,
The honour of his passenger's hand.

Oh tell me there is love across the class divide,
I'd be in bourgeois heaven with ya by my side.
I am just a chauffeur who really hopes for,
The honour of his passenger's hand.

The honour of his passenger's hand.