Just about a mile from where the motorways all merge You can view the national edifice, a monumental splurge It's the lonesome traveler's rotgut or bacteria's revenge The great plastic spectacular descendant of Stonehenge And the people come to worship on their death-defying wheels Fancy-dressed as shovels for their death-defying meals It's the Watford Gap, Watford Gap A plate of grease and a load of crap At one a.m. on Sunday you can hear the boys declare That the other team were fairies and the ref was Fred Astaire It's Chopper Ronnie's fan club on their weekly pilgrimage To stick the hero's boot in all the way from Stamford Bridge And without a solid concrete-burger no night is complete Plastic cups of used bathwater wash away defeat It's the Watford Gap, Watford Gap A plate of grease and a load of crap The traffic jam is rattling like a five-mile cornered snake With fuming pieces falling off and steaming in its wake The city's like a goolie in a groupie's stagnant womb Spaghetti Junction's target in the vinegar strokes of doom The countryside is ravaged like a syphilitic whore Yodeling up the canyon is the dirty old Blue Boar It's the Watford Gap, Watford Gap A plate of grease and a load of crap