| Now it’s been 25 years or more
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| I’ve roamed this land from shore to shore
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| From Tyne to Tamar, Severn to Thames
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| From moor to vale, from peak to fen
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| Played in cafes, pubs and bars
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| I’ve stood in the street with my old guitar
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| But I’d be richer than all the rest
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| If I had a pound for each request
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| For 'Duelling Banjos', 'American Pie'
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| It’s enough to make you cry
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| 'Rule Britannia', or 'Swing low…'
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| Are they the only songs we English know?
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| Seed, bark, flower, fruit
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| They’re never gonna grow without their roots
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| Branch, stem, shoot
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| They need roots
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| After the speeches, when the cake’s been cut
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| The disco’s over and the bar is shut
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| At christening, birthday, wedding or wake
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| What can we sing 'til the morning breaks
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| When the Indians, Asians, Afro-Celts
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| It’s in their blood, below their belt
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| They’re playing and dancing all night long
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| So what have they got right that we’ve got wrong?
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| Seed, bark, flower, fruit
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| They’re never gonna grow without their roots
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| Branch, stem, shoot
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| They need roots and
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| Haul away boys, let them go
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| Out in the wind and the rain and snow
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| We’ve lost more than we’ll ever know
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| 'Round the rocky shores of England
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| We need roots
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| And a minister said his vision of hell
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| Is three folk singers in a pub near Wells
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| Well, I’ve got a vision of urban sprawl
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| There’s pubs where no-one ever sings at all
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| And everyone stares at a great big screen
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| Overpaid soccer stars, prancing teens
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| Australian soap, American rap
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| Estuary English, baseball caps
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| And we learn to be ashamed before we walk
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| Of the way we look, and the way we talk
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| Without our stories or our songs
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| How will we know where we come from?
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| I’ve lost St. George in the Union Jack
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| It’s my flag too and I want it back
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| Seed, bark, flower, fruit
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| Never gonna grow without their roots
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| Branch, stem, shoot
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| We need roots
|
| Haul away boys, let them go
|
| Out in the wind and the rain and snow
|
| We’ve lost more than we’ll ever know
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| 'Round the rocky shores of England
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| We need roots… |