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.

Chor