Boy boy, boy boy Rolling down the road Boy boy, boy boy What have you been told? Do you wear your jeans of blue on pathways paved with gold? Boy boy, boy boy What have you been sold? Yes boy, no boy You don't have to use your head It's all right boy You can use your feet instead You don't have to worry about the French emissary You don't have to dread Boy boy, boy boy Please listen to what I have said You can ask my forlorn fairweather friend If the hills are hard to find If the misty mountain tops are made They'll make us change their minds Boy boy, boy boy Rolling down the road Boy boy, boy boy What have you been told? You can smell the means by which your secret sonnets do unfold Boy boy, boy boy Rolling down the road