| Jock’s got a vote in Parochia
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| 10 long years and he’s still got her
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| Paying tax and and doing stir
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| Worry about it later
|
| And the wind blows hot and the wind 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
|
| But tomorrow’s fair game
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| For a life that’s fit for living
|
| Good morning, Britain
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| 20 years and a loaded gun
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| Funerals, fear and the war ain’t won
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| Paddy’s still a figure of fun
|
| It lightens up the danger
|
| 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, 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
|
| The past is steeped in shame
|
| But tomorrow’s fair game
|
| For a life that’s fit for living
|
| Good morning, Britain
|
| 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 color
|
| 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
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| Where I make my home I 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
|
| The past is steeped in shame
|
| But tomorrow’s fair game
|
| For a life that’s fit for living
|
| Good morning, Britain
|
| The past is steeped in shame
|
| But tomorrow’s fair game
|
| For a life that’s fit for living
|
| Good morning, Britain |