There once was a time when we mucked out the swine
for we stuck and combined when we could.
We sucked on our limes and we struck up our rhymes
to the crimes of Fawkes, Turpin and Hood,
but now we’re pushed round on a merry-go-round
of American merits and lore.
Free England! Free England! Come get your free England,
free England with every world war!
No longer, you see, will we ponder how tea
is the cure for a snivelly nose,
then wander like cloud, growing fonder and proud,
past the daffodil, thistle and rose.
Instead we all say, “I was like, no way,
that’s awesome, whatever dude, sure,”
which clangs around England as slangs intermingle and
our culture slips out the back door.
How splendid! How bold! We’re defending their golden
behind, and risk winding up flattened
as we cast icy faces at ghastlier races
whose brainwaves are differently patterned.
When told to fellate we say “Thanks, you’re so great,
would you like us to suck a bit more?”
Free England! Free England! Come get your free England,
free England with every world war!
The aquiline vultures all hack at our culture,
a carcass infested with flies
with the faces of Thatcher and Murdoch. They capture
and gorge on their succulent prize,
then crap it back out for each diamonded lout
who swaggers round Uncle Sam’s whore,
that strumpet named England, who trumpets her jingle and
lies straddled and bound on the floor.
And while Clintons and Bushes stoke mountainous putsches
and murder their way round the planet,
while Assanges and Snowdens are chased across oceans
and frozen beneath a fat hatchet,
the telescreen sneers, “Oh, but wait! Can’t you hear
the Chinese and the Muscovites roar?”
Free England! Free England! Come get your free England,
free England with every world war!
So, happily evermore after, we sever
our past in a deadly embrace.
Free Wales! And free Scotland! Don’t let England throttle and
submerge you in brown-tongued disgrace.
