It's not so much the distance nor the time it takes It's not even the cold nor the pains or aches I can cope with blisters and the weight of my pack And I don't mind the rain if I've got my mac But have I cursed Wainwright in my time To be fair, he said it's all muck and slime The creeping sludge, the never-ending peat It were that that nearly finished me, it nearly had me beat Peat bogs, peat bogs, more peat bogs You'd never credit it--they burn the stuff instead of logs Peat bogs, peat bogs, more peat bogs Well it's such a funny stuff is peat, it's nature's own glue It got to me, it did, and by the end of day, too I thought, I'm only carrying on so that I can say If I've done nothing else, I've walked the Penine way But I did it seven years ago, so why do it again? Well I don't really know, and I didn't know then Unless it's this that's been nagging at my noggin Peat bogs and me have got this love/hate thing Peat bogs, peat bogs, more peat bogs You'd never credit it--they burn the stuff instead of logs Peat bogs, peat bogs, more peat bogs
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