Somewhere in a town in England 

lay a babe with a curious smile. 

He was of your father's children. 

Born each side of a dry-stone mile. 



He grew up through the schools and factories, 

Brunel's tunnels and bridges bold. 

Grey towers built high on that Kingdom 

with apartments still unsold. 



Somewhere in a town in England. 

Could be Newcastle, Leeds or Birmingham. 

And were you made in 

England's green and pleasant land? 



He accepts no unemployment 

and is to indeterminate station bred. 

Is possessed of skills and reason. 

Flies the flag upon his head. 



Watches the democratic process 

grind it's way through the Commons cold, 

filled with fiery infiltrators 

who would pave the streets with England's gold.