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Words and music by Roddy Frame Jock's got a vote in Parochia Ten long years and he's still got her Paying tax and and doing stir Worry about it later. And the wind blows hot and the wind 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.
Chorus: 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 just 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 Neil. 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 to 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 make my home, I 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.
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