Song of the Open Road
I wish to sing the joys of hiking;
It is superior to biking.
I know it is not quite so fast —
That only makes the pleasure last.
Heigh-ho! when springtime is in bud
How jolly then to plod through mud,
To clump along like happy vagrants
And sniff the petrol fumes' sweet fragrance,
As motor-cars go splashing past
With honk of horn and klaxon-blast.
In winter-time there's nothing like
A good old-fashioned ten-mile hike;
We love to march through rain and sleet
With leaky boots upon our feet,
Our clothes each moment growing wetter,
And if there's hail, that's even better.
And then, when summer comes, how gay
Our trek along the broad highway,
With songs upon our dusty lips
And cheery words and merry quips.
When gazing down sweet pastoral vistas
We cannot even think of blisters.
In any weather, dry or damp,
There's nothing like a day-long tramp
To make us feel that life is sweet
In spite of corns and aching…
Hey, Mister, Give Us a Lift!