| They’re out of sorts in Sunderland
|
| And terribly cross in Kent
|
| They’re dull in Hull
|
| And the Isle of Mull
|
| Is seething with discontent
|
| They’re nervous in Northumberland
|
| And Devon is down the drain
|
| They’re filled with wrath
|
| On the firth of Forth
|
| And sullen on Salisbury Plain
|
| In Dublin they’re depressed, lads
|
| Maybe because they’re Celts
|
| For Drake is going West, lads
|
| And so is everyone else
|
| Hurray-hurray-hurray!
|
| Misery’s here to stay
|
| There are bad times just around the corner
|
| There are dark clouds hurtling through the sky
|
| And it’s no good whining
|
| About a silver lining
|
| For we know from experience that they won’t roll by
|
| With a scowl and a frown
|
| We’ll keep our peckers down
|
| And prepare for depression and doom and dread
|
| We’re going to unpack our troubles from our old kit bag
|
| And wait until we drop down dead
|
| From Portland Bill to Scarborough
|
| They’re querulous and subdued
|
| And Shropshire lads
|
| Have behaved like cads
|
| From Berwick-on-Tweed to Bude
|
| They’re mad at Market Harborough
|
| And livid at Leigh-on-Sea
|
| In Tunbridge Wells
|
| You can hear the yells
|
| Of woe-begone bourgeoisie
|
| We all get bitched about, lads
|
| Whoever our vote elects
|
| We know we’re up the spout, lads
|
| And that’s what England expects
|
| Hurray-hurray-hurray!
|
| Trouble is on the way
|
| There are bad times just around the corner
|
| The horizon’s gloomy as can be
|
| There are black birds over
|
| The grayish cliffs of Dover
|
| And the rats are preparing to leave the B.B.C
|
| We’re an unhappy breed
|
| And very bored indeed
|
| When reminded of something that Nelson said
|
| While the press and the politicians nag nag nag
|
| We’ll wait until we drop down dead
|
| From Colwyn Bay to Kettering
|
| They’re sobbing themselves to sleep
|
| The shrieks and wails
|
| In the Yorkshire dales
|
| Have even depressed the sheep
|
| In rather vulgar lettering
|
| A very disgruntled group
|
| Have posted bills
|
| On the Cotswold Hills
|
| To prove that we’re in the soup
|
| While begging Kipling’s pardon
|
| There’s one thing we know for sure
|
| If England is a garden
|
| We ought to have more manure
|
| Hurray-hurray-hurray!
|
| Suffering and dismay
|
| There are bad times just around the corner
|
| And the outlook’s absolutely vile
|
| There are Home Fires smoking
|
| From Windermere to Woking
|
| And we’re not going to tighten our belts and smile, smile, smile
|
| At the sound of a shot
|
| We’d just as soon as not
|
| Take a hot water bottle and go to bed
|
| We’re going to untense our muscles till they sag sag sag
|
| And wait until we drop down dead
|
| There are bad times just around the corner
|
| We can all look forward to despair
|
| It’s as clear as crystal
|
| From Bridlington to Bristol
|
| That we can’t save democracy and we don’t much care
|
| If the Reds and the Pinks
|
| Believe that England stinks
|
| And that world revolution is bound to spread
|
| We’d better all learn the lyrics of the old 'Red Flag'
|
| And wait until we drop down dead
|
| A likely story
|
| Land of Hope and Glory
|
| Wait until we drop down dead
|
| There Are Bad Times Just Around The Corner
|
| They’re nervous in Nigeria
|
| And terribly cross in Crete
|
| In Bucharest
|
| They are so depressed
|
| They’re frightened to cross the street
|
| They’re sullen in Siberia
|
| And timid in Turkestan
|
| They’re sick with fright
|
| In the Isle of Wight
|
| And jittery in Japan
|
| The Irish groan and shout, lads
|
| Maybe because they’re Celts
|
| They know they’re up the spout, lads
|
| And so is everyone else
|
| Hurray! |
| Hurray! |
| Hurray!
|
| Trouble is on the way
|
| There are bad times just around the corner
|
| There are dark clouds hurtling through the sky
|
| And it’s no use whining
|
| About a silver lining
|
| For we KNOW from experience that they won’t roll by
|
| With a scowl and a frown
|
| We’ll keep our sprits down
|
| And prepare for depression and doom and dread
|
| We’re going to unpack our troubles from our old kit bag
|
| And wait until we drop down dead
|
| There are bad times just around the corner
|
| The horizon’s gloomy as can be
|
| There are black birds over
|
| They grayish cliffs of Dover
|
| And the vultures are hovering round the Christmas tree
|
| We’re an unhappy breed
|
| And ready to stampede
|
| When we’re asked to remember what Lincoln said
|
| We’re going to untense our muscles till they sag sag sag
|
| And wait until we drop down dead |
| They’re morbid in Mongolia
|
| And querulous in Quebec
|
| There’s not a man
|
| In Baluchistan
|
| Who isn’t a nervous wreck
|
| In Maine the melancholia
|
| Is deeper than tongue can tell
|
| In Monaco
|
| All the croupiers know
|
| They haven’t a hope in Hell
|
| In far away Australia
|
| Each wallaby’s well aware
|
| The world’s a total failure
|
| Without any time to spare
|
| Hurray! |
| Hurray! |
| Hurray!
|
| Suffering and dismay
|
| There are bad times just around the corner
|
| We can all look forward to despair
|
| It’s as clear as crystal
|
| From Brooklyn Bridge to Bristol
|
| That we CAN’T save Democracy
|
| And we don’t much care
|
| At the sound of a shot
|
| We’d just as soon as not
|
| Take a hot-water bad and retire to bed
|
| And while the press and the politicians nag nag nag
|
| We’ll wait until we drop down dead
|
| There are bad times just around the corner
|
| And the outlook’s absolutely vile
|
| You can take this from us
|
| That when they Atom bomb us
|
| We are NOT going to tighten our belts and smile smile smile
|
| We are in such a mess
|
| It couldn’t matter less
|
| If a world revolution is just ahead
|
| We’d better all learn the lyrics of the old 'Red Flag'
|
| And wait until we drop down dead
|
| A likely story
|
| Land of Hope and Glory
|
| Wait until we drop down dead |