Lyrics

O'er grassy dale, and lowland scene Come see, come hear, the English Scheme The lower-class, want brass, bad chests, scrounge fags The clever ones tend to emigrate Like your psychotic big brother, who left home For jobs in Holland, Munich, Rome He's thick but he struck it rich, switch! The commune crap, camp bop, middle-class, flip-flop Guess that's why they end up in bands He's the freak creep in us all He's the freak creep in us all Condescends to black men Very nice to them They talk of Chile while driving through Haslingden You got sixty hour weeks, and stone toilet back gardens Peter Cook's jokes, bad dope, check shirts, fancy groups Point their fingers at America Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge Cycle our distant spastic heritage It's a gay red, roundhead, army career, bread head If we were smart we'd emigrate