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