| Think I’ll go for a ride
|
| Take the bike out of the shed
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| Make a fresh start
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| Get out of my head
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| When the head spins
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| There is no joy
|
| Put me on the saddle
|
| And I’m a little boy
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| A little boy on a mission
|
| Like the Tour de France
|
| We’re like Fred and Ginger
|
| When they’re doing their dance
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| To the sound of rubber
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| Out on the old bog road
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| Through the gorse and the heather
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| I’m as free as a bird
|
| It helps me remember
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| How good it used to be
|
| Feeling like a king
|
| The bike, the road, and me
|
| Think I’ll go for a ride
|
| Every ride has victories
|
| Challenges and trials
|
| You hope the skies don’t open
|
| When home is many miles
|
| You think you’re just cruising
|
| Life is flowing along
|
| A fall or a puncture
|
| Anything can go wrong
|
| Then you know you’re vulnerable
|
| At the mercy of the wind
|
| With every hill you climb
|
| You begin and begin and begin
|
| Begin to be a spokesman
|
| With the freedom of the road
|
| You see the Wicklow Mountains
|
| And you know you have to go
|
| I think I’ll go for a ride
|
| Summer evenings on the road
|
| The cool breeze in my hair
|
| Poetry in motion
|
| On two wheels around Kildare
|
| There are cycling heroes
|
| Each one is my pal
|
| They inspire me when I’m pedaling
|
| By the river or canal
|
| Some days I’m like Sean Kelly
|
| Some days I’m David Byrne
|
| Pedaling through Dublin
|
| Or Portland Oregon
|
| Mic Christopher in dreadlocks
|
| Donal Lunny and Olwen Fouere
|
| Cycling through the city
|
| Waving to them all there |