Jock's got a vote in Parochia   Ten long years and he's still got her   Paying tax and and doing stir   Worry about it later.   And the wind blows hot and the wind blows cold   But it blows us good so we've been told   Music's food 'til the art-biz folds   Let them all eat culture.      Chorus:   The past is steeped in shame,   But tomorrow's fair game,   For a life that's fit for living   Good morning Britain.      Twenty years and a loaded gun   Funerals, fear and the war ain't won   Paddy's just a figure of fun   It lightens up the danger.   And a corporal sneers at a catholic boy   And he eyes his gun like a rich man's toy   He's killing more than celtic joy   Death is not a stranger.      Taffy's time's gonna come one day   It's a loud sweet voice and it won't give way   A house is not a holiday   Your sons are leaving home Neil.   In the hills and the valleys and far away   You can hear the song of democracy   The echo of eternity   With a Rak-a-Rak-a feel.      Chorus      From the Tyne to where to the Thames does flow   My English brothers and sisters know   It's not a case of where you go   It's race and creed and colour.   From the police cell to the deep dark grave   On the underground's just a stop away   Don't be too black, don't be too gay   Just get a little duller.      But in this green and pleasant land,   Where I make my home, I make my stand   Make it cool just to be a man,   A uniform's a traitor.   Love is international   And if you stand or if you fall,   Just let them know you gave your all,   Worry about it later.      Chorus