At Gordon Hill
I climbed aboard
A lazy day
For being bored

Enfield sweltered
Beneath the sun
Then I saw her
She looked like fun

Her torn blue jeans
Showed sun-brown thigh
As Hertfordshire
Slipped quickly by

An English miss
Of that no doubt
My usual type
Is short and stout

But on that train
Just her and I
Her slender form
Did keep my eye

Both Welwyn bound
A summer's day
I fantasised
Us in the hay

That kept the shade
Of her fair hair
They put her there
For me to stare

A poster girl
She was you see
On British Rail's
Class Three One Three.