- (Ian McCalman)
He was driving up to Mallaig, Glenfinnan by Loch Shiel
Heading for Lochailort, content behind the wheel
The road was getting narrower, the sign said, Slow!
It's the Highland daily dodgems, it's the 8-3-0
There is a natural assumption that 'A' roads are wide
Enough to take a car - and one the other side
Tourist Information will never never tell
It's like driving through heaven on a road made for hell
'Cos' it's a single track, you can't turn back
The stories are all the same
Of the tourists leaving Corpach, never seen again ...
Don't go on the 8-3-0
The's a joke in the Highlands, it's called a 'passing place'
Where French stay for chips, and English stay for days and days and days
When lorries lose control you've one last wish
Don't let me die under twenty tons of fish
'Cos' it's a single track, you can't turn back
A nightmare without end
Eyes ahead, 'cos' Nigel Mansell's waiting round the bend ...
Don't go on the 8-3-0
Don't go on the 8-3-0
Whoever called this road a road was telling little lies
The 8-3-0's a sheep track in very thin disguise
Italian caravanettes, driving on the right
Meeting Wallace Arnold coaches in the middle of the night
Of the man that's stopping progress, a theory's going around
That he owns the biggest breakers yard this side of Mallaig town
You can see him in the gloaming, towing wrecks from where they lie
And he turns them into girders for the bridge across to Skye
And it's a single track, he's in Mallaig
And now he feels no pain
He's dumped his car, he's in the bar
He's steaming back by train
On a single track you can't turn back
The moral's very plain
It's grand to visit Mallaig - it's safer by MacBrayne
Don't go on the 8-3-0
Don't go on the 8-3-0
Don't go on the 8-3-0