(Or what if Paul Simon was stuck on a road in Scotland)

When our cars are trying to hurtle down the motorways
But we all have to wait in line
Four lanes are there and only one of them is open
We’ve all seen the writing on the sign

Traffic cone
The show up in their orange colour
Just on the melted roads of summer
What makes you think the council’s
here to stay, Oh yeah
I got my phone’s camera
I’d better take a photograph
The Scots’ll take our traffic cones away

If you looked at all the statues around Glasgow
Standing sombre in their grey suits
There’s only place a traffic cone belongs
That’s on the head of the Iron Duke

Traffic cone
The show up in their orange colour
Just on the melted roads of summer
What makes you think the council’s
here to stay, Oh yeah
I got my phone’s camera
I’d better take a photograph
The Scots’ll take our traffic cones away

The Scots’ll take your traffic cones away
The Scots’ll take your traffic cones away
The Scots’ll take your traffic cones away

The Scots’ll take your traffic cones
The Scots’ll take your traffic cones
The Scots’ll take your traffic cones away

The Scots’ll take your traffic cones
A metal head is it’s new home
The Scots’ll take your traffic cones away

The Scots’ll take your traffic, mm, mmm
The Scots’ll take your traffic cones away
Okay

(Alternative lyrics by Louise Pull)