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Composed while on the M62, westbound, a poem to my wife (with a little help from Lainey Wilson and Dolly Parton).

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Inside lane, hitting sixty, on a moonlit 62.

Been working nine-to-five. So tired,

Now I’m coming home to you.

You got me high on something,

Feeling fine, my heart is in a whirl.

You’re my neon diamond, Sunday best,

My small town, Yorkshire girl.

Got some bell-bottomed country on my speakers coming through,

My belle’s sweet Southern twang is asking “What Would Dolly Do?“

sking What Would Dolly Do?

Tyres slapping out a bluesy beat on the blacktop that I ride.

Crack the windows, listen, sing along,

To the songs you hear inside.

I’ve got my shotgun gals, Lainey and Doll,

The Rhinestone and The Flare,

On our island in

This stream of cars not going anywhere.

Got some bell-bottomed country on my speakers coming through,

My belle’s sweet Southern twang is asking “What Would Dolly Do?“

62 now lies behind us, country roads take me home.

To my Sunday best, Forever Girl,

The reason I don’t roam.

She took my heart all those years gone by,

Held it safe with hers to grow.

I may be dumb but I know some things

A man just oughta know.

Got some bell-bottomed country on my speakers coming through,

My belle’s sweet Southern twang is asking “What Would Dolly Do?“

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