Through Aysgarth, Masham, Middleham
Through Otley, Ilkley, Skipton, Reeth
Through Mont Noir, Paris and Carcasson
Via butter tubs o'er lofty peak
The whirr of ten times forty wheels
A carb-fuelled, quad pumped, flying wedge
A jockeying of shifting deals
All balanced on a razors edge
A haw-hee-haw, ah ha, ha, ha!
Le Yorkshire tea au lait, pour moi?
Regarde vous , je ne cest qoui
Le Yorkshire 'Pud' No! Ooh la, la!
From Black sheep ale to Bergerac
St Etienne they journey far
Chris Froome this time? Or Contador!
Le Rosbif Roi? Or, no cigar?
But one thing that we know for sure
Half man machine half whippet thin
As down the champs Elise rides
The ‘Maillot Jaune’ anointed king
This festival of mother France
This grand fromage procession home
Will wear a certain cussed pride:
(born of (among other things) financially prudent pragmatism, also calling a spade a spade and not being afraid to speak its mind)
For this year it be Yorkshire grown.
'Le Yorkshire tour mama it come!
Allez, allez, regarde la!
Le ‘Eee oop’ et le ‘Eee ba goom’
Ou est Le ‘Bobby dazzelar?’