Wales is officially open for business, provided your business involves a six-hour trek to England for basic healthcare or sitting in a stationary vehicle on the M4 wondering if the cockroaches currently staging a coup in your flat are paying council tax. While hikers are booed for skipping queues at Yr Wyddfa, the rest of the nation queues politely for ambulances that never come, proving that the British stiff upper lip is mostly just numb from the cold. Still, with £111m up for grabs in the Euromillions, we can all dream of escaping to a wedding in Venezuela, chauffeured by Tyson Fury, where the only thing infesting the house is the sheer volume of champagne corks.
🎵 (s)Hit of the Day 🎵
Version 1
Version 2
📜 Lyrics 📜
[Verse 1]
Six hours on the M4 crawling
While the ambulance sirens keep on calling
The sat-nav says we're going nowhere fast
And the six-hour wait has long since passed
I got a letter from the N.H.S. last week
Saying England's where I ought to seek
The treatment that I need to stay alive
But the traffic's got no plan to let me drive
[Chorus]
So we're waiting in the queue now
Waiting for the call
Waiting for the sunshine
Before the rain clouds fall
Waiting for a miracle
To lift us from the floor
Holding onto hope
That's what we're waiting for
[Verse 2]
Up on Yr Wyddfa the hikers are booing
At the queue-dodging climbers who think it's amusing
To tap on the trig point and skip past the line
But the British don't take kindly to that kind of crime
Back home in the kitchen it's worse than before
The cockroaches march across my kitchen floor
Mild winter meant nothing had to die
Now they're squatting in my flat and I'm wondering why
[Chorus]
So we're waiting in the queue now
Waiting for the call
Waiting for the sunshine
Before the rain clouds fall
Waiting for a miracle
To lift us from the floor
Holding onto hope
That's what we're waiting for
[Bridge]
Emma Thompson's wearing awards round her neck in bed
While Tyson Fury drives a Welsh girl to a Venezuelan spread
One hundred and eleven million's up for grabs tonight
And I've got my ticket clutched so bloody tight
Twenty-three degrees before the summer rains begin
I'm tap-tapping my foot and it's wearing thin
[Horn Section Solo]
[Verse 3]
The Urdd Eisteddfod's crowning something literary fine
But I'm stuck in traffic on the border line
A snail could beat the ambulance racing to the scene
While milder winters keep the insects pristine
The N.H.S. is bleeding and the roads are gridlocked solid
But someone's winning millions if the draw comes valid
So I'm gripping this ticket with a desperate grin
Waiting for the luck that's never been
[Chorus]
So we're waiting in the queue now
Waiting for the call
Waiting for the sunshine
Before the rain clouds fall
Waiting for a miracle
To lift us from the floor
Holding onto hope
That's what we're waiting for
[Outro]
That's what we're waiting for
One hundred and eleven million reasons to dream
One hundred and eleven million ways to escape
[Hammond Organ Swell]
Still waiting... still waiting...
[Fade out with twelve-string guitar and horn section]