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
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