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