| I was born in the NHS
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| And I’ve been wrapped her bandages
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| And where my child was born
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| The janitor sung 'Oh how great thou art'
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| Thanks Aneurin Bevan and William Price
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| Betsi Cadwaladr, split my hair from the lice
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| And when I broke my heart
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| They gave me a crutch and a leg to stand on
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| From cradle to grave
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| From the moment I was born
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| You’ve patched me up to
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| Stay strong, don’t rip it apart
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| For some bastard bank to make some money
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| Ripping out your heart
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| And if civility is helping out
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| Then civilisation’s what I’m all about
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| Forget capital, it’s not about profiting on pain
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| And when Richard Branson sees dollar bills
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| You know it’s time to run for the hills
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| As a society, we’ve got your back and your heart attack
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| From cradle to grave
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| From the moment I was born
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| You’ve patched me up to
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| Stay strong, don’t rip it apart
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| For some bastard bank to make some money
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| Ripping out your heartfelt anniversary
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| You’re the handle on the stairs
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| That keeps me off my knees
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| Well I’m NHS born, and NHS bred
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| When I die, let me be NHS dead
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| Life’s a tightrope walk
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| You don’t wanna hole in the safety net
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| From cradle to grave
|
| From the moment I was born
|
| You’ve patched me up to
|
| Stay strong, don’t rip it apart
|
| For some bastard bank to make some money
|
| Ripping out your heartfelt anniversary
|
| You’re the handle on the stairs
|
| That keeps me off my knees
|
| Don’t rip it apart
|
| For some bastard bank to make some money
|
| Ripping out your heart-felt anniversary
|
| You’re the handle on the stairs
|
| That keeps me off my knees
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| No profit in pain
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| (But a shout out to all the ethical bankers) |