| At night the Baby Brotherhood and the Inter City Crew
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| Fill their pockets up with calling cards
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| And paint their faces red white and blue
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| Then they go out seeking different coloured faces
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| And anyone else that they can scare
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| And they salute the foes their fathers fought
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| By raising their right hands in the air
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| Oh look how my country’s patriots are hunting down below
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| What do they know of England who only England know?
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| From the stands of the Empire Stadium
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| Come the heralds of the New Dark Age
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| With the simplicities of bigotry
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| And to whom all the world’s a stage
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| These little John Bullshits know that the press
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| Will glorify their feats
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| So that the general public fear them
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| And the authorities say give 'em all seats
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| And the wasted seed of the bulldog breed
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| Is shouting «Here we go!»
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| What do they know of England who only England know?
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| Our neighbours shake their heads
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| And take their valuables inside
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| While my countrymen piss in their fountains
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| To express our national pride
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| And to prove to the world that England
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| Is just as rotten as she looks
|
| They repeat the lies that caught their eyes
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| At school in history books
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| But the wars they think they’re fighting
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| Were all over long ago
|
| What do they know of England who only England know?
|
| And the society that spawned them
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| Just cries out «Who's to blame?»
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| And then wraps itself in the Union Jack
|
| And just carries on the same
|
| Oh look out, my country’s patriots are hunting down below
|
| What do they know of England who only England know? |