Jock`s got a vote in Parochia
Ten long years and he`s still got her
Paying tax and doing stir
Worry about it later
And the wind blows hard and the winds blows cold
But it blows us good so we`ve been told
Music`s food `til the art-biz folds
Let them all eat culture
The past is steeped in shame,
But tomorrow`s fair game,
For a life that`s fit for living
Good morning, Britain
Twenty years and a loaded gun
Funerals, fear and the war ain`t won
Paddy`s still a figure of fun
It lightens up the danger
And a corporal sneers at a catholic boy
And he eyes his gun like a rich man`s toy
He`s killing more than celtic joy
Death is not a stranger
Taffy`s time`s gonna come one day
It`s a loud sweet voice and it won`t give way
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
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.