Back To The Future
So the people have cast their votes,
And have said that they’d rather leave -
It’s not for us to question their wisdom,
Nor for us to weep, and wail, and grieve.
It’s all about moving forward,
About carrying on and doing our best,
On our lonesome journey onwards,
As the Sun sets out there in the West.
A farewell to France – Au Revoir!
To Germany – Auf Wiedersehen, pet!
And it’s Arrivederci, Roma!
Our backwards course is surely set.
We’re filling in the Channel Tunnel,
Re-instating Britain as a separate nation:
The new borders will begin at Dover,
As we clamp down on all that immigration.
So we’re going back to Peak Britannia,
To a nostalgic land that time forgot,
Where There’ll Always Be An England,
And an Englishman was happy with his lot.
The land of Shakespeare, Milton and Dickens,
Nelson, Wellington, Churchill and Blake,
Turner, the Brontes and Donald Campbell,
And Barnes Wallis’s bombs bouncing across the lake.
John Logie Baird, Baden-Powell and his scouts,
Danny Blanchflower and Bobby Moore,
When England were still good at football,
And Geoff Hurst still knew how to score!
Let’s get back to Colman’s Mustard, Double Diamond, Brylcreme, Berni Inns, Bisto and Bovril!
Cream teas, scones and jam, kippers, and pork pies,
Let’s re-discover Bournevita, Ovaltine and Cocoa,
And Guinness Is Good For You, and all those other lies.
A land of country lanes and ivy-covered cottages,
Of Henley, Wimbledon, Ascot and Aintree,
Bowler hats, and furled umbrellas and Land Rovers,
Of the WI, and Jam & Jerusalem as far as the eye can
see.
But why leave it there, when there’s further still to go?
A return to Public Baths and library tickets,
A land of fog, and flat caps, and fish & chips,
And old diseases, such as polio and rickets.
Our national game shall once again be cricket,
There’ll be warm beer, whippets and village fetes,
Decimalisation will be abolished,
And gasometers paid for by the rates.
There’ll be no more Brussels sprouts for us,
But bent cucumbers, and rugger at Twickers,
Bring back flogging and National Service,
Arthritis, false teeth, corsets and big knickers.
Twenty Woodbines and hacking smokers’ coughs,
The National Coal Board and British Steel,
Little boys climbing up our chimneys,
And in the one-and-nines for the Pathe Newsreel.
There’ll be long queues at the Welsh & Scottish
borders,
To dismantle the Union would be barmy,
But we’ll enjoy again all those “Carry On” films,
And the endless repeats of Dads’ Army.
Yes, we’re casting off in splendid isolation,
We’re going hunting to see what we might find,
An island nation drifting in the North Atlantic,
We’re all at sea now – but Never Mind!
Then we’ll sit alone in the last outpost of Empire,
Racked by bronchitis and diseases of that kind,
Happy in our Land of Hope And Glory,
John Bull and Never Mind!
Soon they’ll build the Deportation Camps,
And round up every foreigner they can find,
Even if you’ve got a Spanish grand-mother,
Cry Little England, and Never Mind!
Sweep out the Anderson Shelter,
Get the shelves with cans and candles lined,
Let’s hope the toilet paper lasts for many years,
Carry On and Never Mind!
At last we’ll “Have Our Country Back”,
For that the Brexiteers have signed,
Roamed by Mad Dogs And Englishmen,
Good-bye Johnny Foreigner but Never Mind!
So let’s get the Union Jack up that flagpole,
And welcome to the nostalgia for which we’ve pined,
Let’s Keep Calm And Carry On,
It’s All Our Yesterdays, but Never Mind!
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