And in the scout hut debate still rages on
The most dangerous junction in Christendom
And Cathy Staniforth’s milk bank opens soon
Yonder the deacon in misguided trousers
Yonder the deacon in misguided trousers
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
Ma-ma-maroon was the colour of my true love’s hair
She’s got a cross-stitch exhibition over there
A spate of pan fires isn’t going to happen round here
It fills me with joy to see moshers out jogging
It fills me with joy to see moshers out jogging
Ain’t no local groups called Fuck Your Conglomerate
No narky young upstarts called Fuck Your Conglomerate
‘Cos we built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
With wattle and daub ‘neath a silvry moon
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
Rehearsals afoot for the Christmas Play
It’s called “Roll The Square Arthur” and mind what you say
It’s a cricketing farce with a thickening plot
Act One, Scene One – Brenda Blethyn gets shot
Graduated to solids disturbingly early
Graduated to solids disturbingly early
Oh the Mummers, the Papas
The Best Of The Coppers
Anyone can join in so I discarded my jeans
And played wine-maddened Pentheus, the King of Thebes
And some Bloomsbury peripheral said I had the best line
Check your sheds, check your sheds, I think I’ve lost my mind!
Oh we built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune
There’s a Sword Dance every twenty-seventh of June
We built this village on a Trad. Arr. tune