An Apres Morris Song Archive - The Morris Ring

English Are Best
(ad. From Flanders & Swan by Sem Seabourne)
The rottenest bits of these islands of ours
We've left in the hands of three unfriendly powers
Examine the Irish the Welsh or the Scot
You’ll find he’s a stinker as often as not.
Ch. The English the English the English are nice
They’re worth all the others at double the price
The English the English the English are best
So up with the English and down with the rest!
The Scotsman is mean as we're all well aware
He's boney and blotchy and covered with hair
He eats salted porridge to keep out the cold
And drinks gallons of whisky to make him feel bold.
The Irishman now our contempt is beneath
He sleeps in his boots and he lies through his teeth
He blows up policemen or so I have heard
And blames it on Cromwell and William the Third
The Welshman's dishonest, he cheats when he can
He's little and dark more like monkey than man
He works underground with a lamp on his hat
And sings far too loud, far too often and flat
And crossing the channel one cannot say much
For the French or the Spanish, the Danish or Dutch
The Germans are German, the Russians are red
And the Greeks and Italians eat garlic in bed
Cross the Atlantic West Indies the same
They've simply no notion of playing the game
They argue with umpires, they cheer when they've won
And they’re fit and they practice which spoils all the fun
The Americans eat things concealed in a bun
And don’t walk the streets without packing a gun
Their presidents are actors as often as not
And when they find a good one he’s usually shot.
It's not that they're wicked or naturally bad
It's just that they're foreign that makes them so mad
The English are all that the world should rever
And the best place in England is in Oxfordshire
English Country Rubbish Dump (by ed.)
Let`s tidy our rural idyll, turn over an old leaf-if we can find one!
How many piles of rubbish grow
In our English Country Rubbish Dump?
I`ll tell you now of some of them I know
And those I miss you`re sure give me-a-thump!
Newspapers, rusty cans
Post Office rubber bands
Discarded skins and
Worthless Euro notes.
It`s an utter farce
You can`t even see the grass
In our English Garden Rubbish Dump!
English Country Garden.
(ad. by ed from Hawkins, Daniel; Hawkins, Justin; original)
How many times have you had a bit of fun?
I`ve done it thrice and I think it is quite nice
In an English Country Garden
Once in the flower bed
Once in the potting shed Once in a bed of roses.
She thought it a farce cos the prickles hurt her arm
In an English Country Garden.
Met Mrs Brown she was walking round and round
In an English Country Garden.
She said, “You`re drunk but sod it you`re a hunk!”
In an English Country Garden.
Ripped off my pantaloons, whistling some merry
tunes Leapt forth and shouted,”Geronimo!”
I shouted too, twas the least that I could do In an
English Country Garden.
How many flashers have you seen In an English
Country Garden.
I`ll tell you know of some of them I know And those
I miss you`ll surely pardon.
First there is cousin Bert, in just his undershirt
Grandad who wears a frilly nighty
Then there is Jim, well the less that`s said of him In
an English Country Garden.
How high do Icknield Way Men leap In an English
Country Garden.
I`ll tell you now of some of them I know And those
I`ve missed you`ll surely pardon.
First there is foreman Bob Getting off the ground`s
a job Opposite`s there`s Graham reaching Cloud
Nine
The others as you`ve seen are rather in between In
an English Country Garden.
How many floosies have you seen In an English
Country Garden.
I`ll tell you now of some of them I know And those
I`ve missed you`ll surely pardon.
First there’s the one-eyed dwarf She’d write your
epitaph
Then there’s the one we all call The Bus But give
her 50 quid and she’ll entertain a squid In an
English Country Garden.
How many more floosies have you seen In an
English Country Garden.
I`ll tell you now of some of them I know And those
I`ve missed you`ll surely pardon.
Next there’s the one with crabs Bob and Rover
once kept tabs
Then there’s the one who has epileptic fits I prefer
Rosie ‘cos she’s semi comatose In an English
Country Garden.
How many treasurers have you seen In an English
Country Garden.
I`ll tell you now of some of them I know And those
I`ve missed you`ll surely pardon
Once we could pay our way any time and any day
Winter summer spring or the fall
Now if you’re on the list he’ll prize it from your fist
In an English Country Garden.
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