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Jock's got a vote in Parochia |
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Ten long years and he's still got her |
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Paying tax and doing stir |
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Worry about it later |
|
And the wind blows hard and the winds blows cold |
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But it blows us good so we've been told |
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Music's food 'til the art-biz folds |
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Let them all eat culture |
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The past is steeped in shame, |
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But tomorrow's fair game, |
|
For a life that's fit for living |
|
Good morning, Britain |
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Aztec Camera |
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Twenty years and a loaded gun |
|
Funerals, fear and the war ain't won |
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Paddy's still a figure of fun |
|
It lightens up the danger |
|
And a corporal sneers at a catholic boy |
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And he eyes his gun like a rich man's toy |
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He's killing more than celtic joy |
|
Death is not a stranger |
|
Taffy's time's gonna come one day |
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It's a loud sweet voice and it won't give way |
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A house is not a holiday |
|
Your sons are leaving home, Nell |
|
In the hills and the valleys and far away |
|
You can hear the song of democracy |
|
The echo of eternity |
|
With a Rak-a-Rak-a-feel. |
|
Chorus |
|
>From the Tyne to where the Thames does flow |
|
My English brothers and sisters know |
|
It's not a case of where you go |
|
It's race and creed and colour |
|
>From the police cell to the deep dark grave |
|
On the underground's just a stop away |
|
Don't be too black, don't be too gay |
|
Just get a little duller. |
|
But in this green and pleasant land, |
|
Where I made my home I'll make my stand |
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Make it cool just to be a man, |
|
A uniform's a traitor. |
|
Love is international and if you stand or if you fall, |
|
Just let them know you gave your all, |
|
Worry about it later. |
|
Chorus |
