So, beat it, Bo, while your feet are mates;
Take a look at the whole United States;
There’s the little fire and the pipe at night;
And up again when the morning’s bright;
With nothin’ but road and sky in sight,
And nothin’ to do but go.
So, beat it, Bo, while the goin’s good,
While the birds in the trees are sawin’ wood;
If today ain’t the finest for you and me,
Then there’s tomorrow that’s going to be,